


Festival Song

by Raicheru



Series: The Wood [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: AU- Modern Setting Mixed with Canon Fantasy Setting, Alternate Character Origins, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Are Beta Readers Real or Just a Myth? (You Decide), Artistic rivalry, Canon Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, Destiny, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Geralt Whump, Jaskier in distress, M/M, Magic, OOC Behavior based on Alternate Character Origins, Panic Attacks, aftermath of panic attacks, geralt is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: Jaskier is on his way to the Bardic Festival in Vizima by himself.Geralt has been acting strangely since the events that occurred in Rinde and he's become distant.  Despite the other Witchers' reassurances that his moodiness is fairly normal, Jaskier isn't quite convinced.  On top of his worries, Jaskier is once again confronted by Valdo Marx and he comes to learn what viscous rivalry really means.  An attempt to remove him from the competition turns into life threatening danger as he comes face to face with the Striga everyone seems to know about but doesn't openly discuss.  Where is his Witcher when he really needs him?  And will he be able to tell him how he feels when he shows up?Takes place after 'In Destiny's Hands.'
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Wood [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794649
Comments: 49
Kudos: 129





	1. Opening Bars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again. Time for another short story interlude before moving on to the third long part of our journey.

Jaskier stood at the crest of a hill overlooking a wide valley where Vizima, capitol city of Temeria, sat at the edge of a huge lake. He'd been here before, but hadn't lingered. Geralt tended to avoid large cities and the guards kept most of the streets safe, so there wasn't much work for a Witcher. Jaskier didn't like this particular city much better that he did. The memory of his first visit back during his second year in the Wood still didn't sit well. 

He'd been hired to sing at a young lord's wedding when he first passed through Vizima. But during the reception, the man had decided he didn't like the way his lady looked at Jaskier while he sang his way around the room. Jaskier had barely spared her a glance as he played to the upbeat spirits of the crowd, but Lord Ginsborough sent somebody to beat Jaskier bloody later that night. He'd been ambushed on his way back from the market and ushered into a back alley. Geralt had intervened before he'd gotten more than black eye and a gut punch, but they'd had to leave the city quickly after that. The best that could be said of that night is that he'd gotten paid before they left. Geralt wasn't with him at the moment because they'd parted ways a couple weeks ago, so he'd have to be careful.

Things had been. . . odd between the two of them for a while now. Months, in fact. Ever since Geralt had died and been resurrected in Rinde, he'd become more withdrawn. He still allowed Jaskier to accompany him and he cared for him the way he always did. Mostly. But he was a bit more morose and reserved now. And while he responded to advances, Jaskier usually had to make the first move. This past winter at Kaer Morhen, the other Witchers had assured Jaskier that this was fairly normal, especially after altercations with Yennefer. He'd perk up eventually but Jaskier wasn't so sure. He really wished Geralt was here right now, and not just for the extra protection his presence would offer.

But surely Lord Ginsborough wouldn't try anything with so many witnesses and upgraded security for the festival. Jaskier sighed. He'd just have to be more aware of his surroundings and not wander off where he was completely alone. Of course, he was going to be meeting Essi and Brett here, and between the two of them, Jaskier was pretty sure he wasn't going anywhere by himself for a while. Despite the sudden flush of annoyance, he was actually looking forward to seeing them again. He hadn't seen Essi since he attended her lecture last fall in Oxenfurt. He and Geralt had moved on towards Kaer Morhen shortly after that, and there hadn't been much time to talk when it was over. He was also looking forward to seeing the outfit Elihal had made for her to wear for the competition. She'd gone back by herself to discuss the design, but she'd kept the details to herself. 

Jaskier smiled as he heard the trill of a flute from somewhere behind them. A group of performers overtook him on the road, dancing and laughing on their way into the city. All wore brightly colored clothes and sang a joyous song while they traveled and Jaskier felt his heart lightening. He'd been looking forward to this event for quite some time and he shouldn't let his maudlin thoughts bring him down. He'd been working on his entry for the final competition for months and he was quite proud of it.

The northern gate was adorned with colorful banners where it stood open wide to admit the people who had come to entertain and be entertained. The king himself was rumored to make an appearance for the competition on the main stage. Jaskier might have felt a giddy type of apprehension, but after singing in Queen Calanthe's court down in Cintra, he was less nervous than he might have been. His nerves settled even further as he moved through the gates and the song of humanity washed over him. The press of people and chatter of the crowds was soothing in a way he couldn't really describe. His heart hummed with warmth as he moved further into the city, joining the trail of people and carts. 

Jaskier stepped into The Dove and Pheasant Inn, winding his way through the crowd to find the proprietor. He'd intended to arrive a little earlier to beat some of the crowds, but he'd underestimated how long it would take to get here from Murivel. He'd gone out of his way to go around Rinde. Even though the place was no longer a magical trap that kept visitors from leaving, he didn't want to be reminded of what had happened there. He'd planned to meet Essi and Brett here, but they weren't currently in the common room. He'd have to check back later. The harried innkeeper had his hands full of mugs and plates but smiled widely when he saw Jaskier.

“Jaskier! Good to see you.”

Several people looked up at the sound of his name and Jaskier grinned, feeling a boost of confidence at being recognized. The innkeeper was warm and welcoming. The second time Jaskier and Geralt had come to the city, they'd helped him find his missing son. 

“Pavel. How are you?”

“Busy, but thriving. Come to the bar. I kept a room for you.”

Jaskier breathed a small sigh of relief. He'd worried that lodgings would be in such high demand that he'd end up sleeping in a barn somewhere. It wasn't like he could book a room online in advance, and he wasn't quite sure he was up to asking Essi to bunk with her and Brett. He'd end up feeling like a third wheel. “Many thanks, my friend,” he said. 

“It's my pleasure, really. I had a feeling that you'd be coming to town.” When Pavel stated the price, Jaskier frowned.

“Are you sure?” It was far too low and with all of the singers in town, Jaskier figured that he wouldn't have the opportunity to sing for his supper and a discount. There were too many other musicians.

“My Dimitri is home safe because of you and Geralt,” Pavel said quietly as he fished a key out of his pocket and held it out. “That's the only price I'll accept from either of you.”

Jaskier just shook his head and exchanged some coins for the key. “I'm going to head into the market before the stalls close. Do you need anything?”

“Oh, bless you for asking, but no. Dimitri just went out for fresh supplies this morning and we're set for now. You just relax and enjoy yourself. This is gearing up to be the best festival in years. We haven't had one in a while.” A shadow of something crossed his features before he hid it with a smile. “I hear the king will be coming down from the palace to attend. It should be exciting.”

Jaskier wasn't sure if exciting was the word he'd use for royalty, but he didn't say anything as he nodded and headed toward the stairs. His room was on the fourth floor at the front of the building, and it had a small, shallow balcony overlooking the street below. Pavel was most likely losing money by letting him stay for such a small sum, but he supposed he shouldn't complain. His finances were secure and he had plenty of money with him, but this way he wouldn't have to think about it. He could focus on the competition.

Stowing his things in the dresser, Jaskier settled his lute over his shoulder and locked the door before heading back downstairs. He never went anywhere without his instrument. He wanted to view the market stalls to see if there was anything interesting. There were many people on the streets who were in town for the festival, creating a comfortable but dense crowd. Low wooden stages were set up at intersections decorated with ribbons and flowers, each with a performer entertaining passersby. There was a juggler tossing colored pins into the air, and a woman playing a harp. Another man was performing slight of hand with a admirable dexterity. Jaskier couldn't feel any magic coming off of him. 

The trade quarter had temporary stalls set up in the streets, and more in the squares, each bursting with wares from many countries. There were wines from Toussaint, high quality tools from Mahakam, exotic herbs and produce from Zerrikania, and fine fabrics from Roggeven, the biggest Old World city in Cidaris. Jaskier stopped at one of the fabric stalls and flipped through the bolts of brocade, looking for something interesting. A rich red caught his eye and he dug down trough the pile. There were two bolts of fabric the color of ripe cranberries, both with subtle patterns in the weave. One of them almost looked like dragon scales. It was soft to the touch but well made enough to weather a some rough travel on the road. Elihal would approve.

Jaskier flipped the top layers of fabric back down like he was disinterested and proceeded to haggle a bit to bring down the overly high asking price so it was a little less insulting. The merchant didn't think he knew what he was looking at, but having a tailor for a best friend had taught him a thing or two about fabric. Once the price was manageable, he purchased both bolts of red and another of good, black cotton. Geralt needed some new shirts. When they met back up in White Bridge after the festival, he'd ask him to head to Novigrad before they went anywhere else. 

At another stall, he bought some dried figs to munch on while he shopped. There was a perfumery stall that offered scented oils and soaps where he bought some rosemary mint soap for himself and verbena oil for Essi. A leather worker's stall had a chain mail lined leather pouch that he purchased for Brett. The other man had once lost a fair amount of money to a cut purse who'd literally cut open the leather of his coin pouch and gotten away while he was distracted. Vaz had given him shit about it for days. The gift would be both useful and irritating which made Jaskier grin. 

At another stall, there was a large display of fruits in crates and baskets and Jaskier could only identify half of them. Along with apples, bananas, oranges, and pears, there were several different colors of raspberries from white to gold to red, strange greenish yellow shapes that looked like stars when sliced, round spiny shapes that looked like hairy strawberries, and large green, nubby shapes the size of watermelons. But they weren't like any watermelon he'd ever seen. They smelled sweet. Another basket held dark fruits that looked like blackberries on steroids. 

A woman with bright red hair that was elegantly pinned back from her face was selecting some of the long berries and putting them in a small basket she carried. Jaskier's pulse quickened as he felt a wave of heat coming off of her that had nothing to do with temperature. 

She was a sorceress.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, her tone a bit dry.

Jaskier fumbled with the pear in his hands and nearly dropped it. “Ah, no. Sorry. No.” He'd been staring. “You're just. . .” He bit his lip before he said anything else. He wasn't sure if she wanted anyone to know what she was or. . . he realized he didn't know much about sorceress at all beyond idle tavern chatter. When she turned to him, he saw the deep dip of her gown's neckline and swallowed hard as his eyes skittered down automatically. Jaskier flicked his gaze back up quickly as he hummed a few bars of a song to calm himself. Her gaze sharpened. Controlled power licked off of her in waves, but unlike Yennefer's tightly contained inferno, this was like the rays of a hot summer sun. Warm on the face, but they could burn if you weren't cautious. “Sorry,” he said again. “Habit.”

The woman's expression softened with curiosity and she held out her hand. “Triss Marigold. And you are?” 

“Jaskier the Bard.” He took her hand and bowed over it before brushing his lips across her knuckles. There was a small, inquisitive push at his mind as if something brushed over him on the inside. Jaskier shivered at the mild intrusion and pushed back at it, but he had a feeling she'd found whatever she was looking for as the touch withdrew. He looked up through his bangs to see her brows rising and a small smile quirking her mouth. Her mental touch was far more gentle than Yennefer's had been.

“Well, Jaskier the Bard. It's a pleasure to meet you. Will you be competing in the festival?”

“Indeed,” he said. “I look forward to sharing a modest tale or two. Will I see you in the audience?”

“Oh, most definitely.” She smiled again. “I look forward to hearing your songs. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's getting a bit late.”

“Of course. Good evening, Ms. Marigold.”

“Please. Call me Triss.”

“Okay,” he said dumbly as she paid for the berries and glided across the square away from him. Wow. That was. . . not what he expected. Were all sorceresses so different from each other? He had no idea how many there were or what they were like. The only one he'd met was Yennefer. Shaking himself, he turned back to the fruit vendor who was tapping his foot with impatience waiting for him to make up his mind. 

He wasn't feeling particularly adventurous today so he bought an orange and a couple pears, including the one he'd nearly dropped, before moving on. It really was getting late and while the entertainment would be going long into the night, most trader stalls would be closing down after dark. He'd have to come back out tomorrow morning to take a look at the herbalist stalls to replenish and possibly expand his supplies.

When he got back to The Dove and Pheasant, he was relieved to see Essi and Brett at a corner table. She waved at him and smiled. Signaling to Pavel, who nodded back at him, Jaskier headed over to join them. He set down his bag of purchases and his lute case just in time for Essi to wrap him in a tight hug. 

“I'm so glad to see you,” she said warmly. Pulling back, she looked around.

“No Geralt?”

“No. He doesn't like cities much.” With such attuned senses, it could sometimes be overwhelming for him to be around so many people. “I'll be meeting up with him in White Bridge before we head back up to Novigrad. How have you two been?” he asked as he settled at the table. 

“Pretty good,” Brett said. “Vaz wanted to be here, but he and Stellan are on their way to Cidaris. He asked me to give you this.” He pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table. Inside was a letter and four small objects that spilled out into Jaskier's palm. Guitar, or rather lute picks. One was smooth, polished ebony, another tortoiseshell. The third was made of finely carved bone and the last one was a clipped silver crown that had been cut down to a triangular shape with burnished tips and edges. The note was short and snarky, as usual.

_Buttercup-_

_Heard you were on your way to compete in the festival. Wish I could be there to heckle you._

_V_

Jaskier smiled down at the note. Vaz didn't have a musical note in his body, so he'd probably talked to his niece, Natalie, about the picks before he'd sent them. By now, she must be finishing up her music program at Oxenfurt University. Jaskier played the lute with both his fingers and with picks depending on what kind of sound he was going for. These ones would offer a variety and he tucked them into an inner pocket of his doublet with the note. The last time he'd seen Vaz, he'd been recovering from a stab wound. Jaskier was glad he was doing well. Pulling out the two items he'd gotten earlier, handed the small bottle to Essi and the pouch to Brett. She uncapped the bottle and let the scent hit her nose.

“Oh, this is really well made. Thank you.”

Brett eyed the pouch and hefted it in his hand while giving Jaskier and extremely dry look. “Gee. You shouldn't have.”

“What?” Jaskier blinked at him innocently. “The streets are an unpredictable place. I thought it might come in handy.” He kept his expression even as he saw Essi biting her lip to smother a grin. 

“Anyway,” Brett said as he tucked the pouch away. “Aside from getting ready to perform, what have you been up to?”

“Not much really. I've been on my own for a couple weeks. Not much has happened.” Despite all of the things that had happened to him since he'd come into the Wood, Jaskier didn't trip over monsters or experience life changing events every single day.

“And here you are in one piece. I'm impressed,” Brett said with a smirk. 

Jaskier didn't deign to to give him a response as he accepted one of the the mugs and plates Pavel and his barmaid brought over. The girl was buxom and friendly, and she winked at Jaskier. He smiled back but didn't encourage her beyond that. He wasn't interested. As he sipped his lager, he saw Brett eyeing him. When they were alone with their food and drinks, the other man sat back and glanced between him and the barmaid.

“Really?” he asked him.

“Why are you surprised? You're the one who said all the pretty bards get laid.” Jaskier winked at him before taking another sip.

Brett huffed good naturedly and drank from his mug. “How does Geralt feel about that?” 

“He grumps about it, but hasn't really said anything to me directly. How do you feel when Essi performs? Surely she's had a few suitors.” He saw Essi's lips thin as a light blush dusted her cheeks. “Sorry,” he said as he stared at his plate and started picking at the roast chicken. “I'm honestly not looking for trouble. Or for partners. I have no control over what other people do.”

“Are you alright?” she asked him. 

Jaskier sighed, knowing it was no use trying to dodge the question. She'd pester him until he answered. She was worse than him sometimes. Looking away, he studied people coming in from outside. “It's been kind of weird lately. Geralt's been. . .oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.” He trailed off as someone he never expected to see again strolled haughtily through the door. 

Valdo Marx, the bane of Jaskier's online existence before he entered the Wood, stood in all his self-absorbed glory in a hideously over-designed outfit of puce and gold. What should have been elegant looked garish with all it's embroidery and complicated slashed panels. To top it off, he had a large floppy hat with an obnoxiously long feather sticking out of it. When Jaskier had posted his songs online back in Lettenhove, the man had viciously torn him apart and left scathing comments every time.

“Friend of yours?” Brett asked him as he unobtrusively kept an eye on the entryway.

“No. Definitely not. I never thought he'd set foot outside a Modern City.” Turning back to his companions before the asshole noticed him, he took a large swig of his drink. “Essi, you remember that online troll that kept harassing me back in Lettenhove?”

“ _That's_ the guy?” She snorted a laugh as she took in his appearance. “What an ass.”

“Oh, believe me, he's worse in person. He broke into my apartment in Ard Carraigh and tried to tell me how much he loved hearing me play. Even offered to get me a recording contract. For a fee,” he muttered. “Dick.”

“Does he know who you are now?”

“I tore him a new one before I left my apartment and told him I was the person he'd been trolling. I didn't give him my stage name, but he'll recognize my face.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the spoiled little rich boy who thinks he knows what music is,” Valdo called loudly, drawing the attention of several patrons.

“Oh, shit,” Jaskier swore. He took a long breath and let it out slowly. He wasn't going to let the prick bother him. He was Jaskier the Bard, Chronicler of the White Wolf, and he'd survived Rusalkas Leshens, a Katakan, and a Sea Serpent. One pushy asshole was not going to make him feel inferior. If only he actually believed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't realized how many notes I'd written for this chapter until I came back to it weeks later. I keep adding things as I went and here we are.
> 
> The fruit that slices like stars is starfruit, the hairy strawberries are rambutan, the nubby green fruit is jackfruit, and the long berries are mullberries. (Also, the different colors of raspberries are really pretty.)
> 
> I just bought a bar of rosemary & mint goat's milk soap and it's lovely (if a bit strong). I picked the scents because I liked the way the words looked and it sounded exotic while still being readily available in the world. I was tickled when I actually found some in the grocery store.
> 
> I originally described Jaskier's red mountain outfit as the color of heart's blood. I got all pleased with myself about symbolism and all that. And then I realized it didn't really fit because the story is from Jaskier's perspective and blood is not the first thing he's going to think about when he's shopping for fabric. So then I was looking for the right color rose online. But all the names are either stupid or too modern and I didn't like them (and I couldn't be bothered to make one up). So I settled for cranberries, which is technically correct, but not romantic enough or symbolic enough to make me happy. Does anyone else obsess about describing colors like this or is it just me? I've been having a hell of a time trying to paint the right picture with words.
> 
> My first introduction to Triss was the red haired version from Witcher 3 which was my first experience in the Witcher universe. While the actress on the Netflix show looks fine, she just wasn't confident or bold enough to embody the character for me. Whenever I think of Triss, it's always the red haired version from the third game, so that's how I'm going to describe her here. It's not meant as a slight to Anna Shaffer.


	2. First Verse

Jaskier casually took a swig of his lager, ignoring Valdo's insult from across the room. As much as he'd hated his childhood, it had given him a fair amount of useful experience. Years of trying not to be noticed were finally paying off. He drew on what he'd learned around the rich and self-absorbed and put a bored look on his face.

“What, no witty retort?” Valdo called as he sauntered across the room. He didn't quite make it to their table before Pavel intercepted him.

“Can I help you, sir?” he asked, his tone unimpressed.

“Food and lodgings for the future Bardic Champion, if you please.” Valdo doffed his hat and gave a sweeping bow. A nearby patron sneezed as the feather slapped him in the face. 

“I can offer you food and drinks, but all of our rooms are booked for the duration of the competition. You'll have to find lodgings elsewhere,” Pavel said in a matter of fact manner. 

“Well,” Valdo said with a sniff. “I suppose I could eat here despite the dubious quality of your clientele.” He sneered at Jaskier's table and when Pavel saw where he was glaring, he drew himself up and put his hands on his hips. 

“If you're here to insult my patrons, you'll have to leave. That there is Jaskier the Bard, and it is my honor to serve him. You, however, leave much to be desired in a customer.”

Valdo blinked in surprise. “Him? _He's_ the one everyone is tittering about like he's something special? Hmnph. He's alright if you like crowd pleasing codswallop, I suppose.”

Jaskier was too baffled to be insulted. The disdain was so thick and hollow, it barely made an impression on him. If anything, it was kind of sad. Brett stood, resting his fists on the table as he leaned forward, but before he could say anything, he was joined by two others who also rose from their seats. Both of them were huge and beefy, and the look on their faces was not friendly.

“Leave off, you foppish fuck. All yer taste must be in yer mouth.” The first man made a fist and cracked his knuckles threateningly. 

The second man tilted his head back and forth and loosened his shoulders before nodding at the entrance. “There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the arse,” he said, his voice low. Jaskier had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a smile. Delmer was the a blacksmith's assistant and he looked like he ate rocks for breakfast, but he was sweet as a lamb and twice as gentle. His daughter Lemira looked up at him adoringly from the bench beside him as she snuck a sip from his mug. The sight made the man no less intimidating.

Seeing that he was outnumbered, Valdo started to retreat a bit. It seemed he expected more than he was getting from the crowd. “Well. I bid you all a good evening,” he said dismissively, the tremor in his hands giving away how nervous he really was as he tried to exit gracefully. When he was gone, the quiet tension that had been growing eased and everyone took their seats again. Delmer nodded at Jaskier respectfully and Jaskier saluted him with his mug. 

“Thank you my friend, for the assistance.”

“Won't have such foolishness spouted in front of you,” Delmer said with a huff. “Don't know who the hell he is, but if his singing is half as bad as his clothes, then he has no business badmouthing a real poet.”

“Sing Northern Star!” Lemira piped. 

“It would be my pleasure to oblige you, fair maiden,” Jaskier told her with and elegant sweep of his hand before he picked up the lute case at his feet and took out his instrument. He liked to think that the small gesture was more graceful than Valdo's large, clumsy bow. The girl clapped her hands and grinned, showing a missing front tooth. Jaskier plucked out a few notes as he adjusted his chair to sit comfortably facing her. The tavern was far too busy for him to range the room, but he wasn't interested in moving around the space tonight anyway. This was a special request and he sang directly to her. 

Northern Star was one of his newer songs and he was surprised it had traveled this far already. It was about traveling toward a bright star on the horizon but never getting closer to it no matter how many miles were traveled. It was distant but comforting in its consistency, it's light a glowing warmth in the dark. Jaskier had written it when Geralt had started to become more distant after Rinde as he tried to work through his feelings on how their dynamic was shifting. But instead of being a maudlin musing on never getting closer to the star, it was full of hope and comfort because the distant light was always there as a guide. 

He sang with his heart on his sleeve even though he doubted anyone would really know the true meaning behind the lyrics. When he finished the last notes, the audience broke out in applause. Pavel announced a round on the house and the din rose until it was near deafening. Jaskier found himself grinning as he put his instrument away. That felt pretty good. Essi was watching him with a fond expression and even Brett seemed content. 

“I'm beginning to wonder if I even have a chance,” Essi said as she continued eating her meal. “But I suppose I would be content to come in second place to you.”

“You're the professional with the recording contract. I'm just dabbling,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish.

Essi sighed and rested her chin on her hand. “But there's something magical about your music.”

Brett placed his fingertips on top of Essi's hand. “It just sounds good, is all,” he said carefully. 

Her eyes widened for a moment before she gave Jaskier an apologetic look. “You've always sounded good,” she said, covering for herself. 

Jaskier was suddenly wondering if he should be competing at all. Magic spells, charms, and amulets that affected the voice and performance were expressly forbidden by the rules of the competition. He wasn't sure if his natural magic counted or not. Jaskier blew out a long breath. “Let's head up to my room after dinner.” He wasn't sure he wanted to keep talking about it down here. His magic wasn't common knowledge and he wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

They changed the subject and finished eating before retiring. Jaskier left a generous tip for Pavel and his staff before heading for the stairs. In his room, he set his lute carefully aside and sat on the bed. Brett lit a lamp and sat at the small table, leaving the cushioned chair by the hearth for Essi.

“I've read all the rules,” Bret said. “There shouldn't be anything for you to worry about. The king's advisor will be overseeing the competition to keep it fair. . . and shit, that might actually be a problem.” 

“Advisor, as in sorceress?” Jaskier asked. What little he did know about mages included the bit about them being assigned to rulers across the Continent as advisors and guides. The Brotherhood of Sorcerers kept a firm hold on the monarchies of the Continent. When they were allowed to anyway. Calanthe refused to have a mage at her court. Mousesack was a Druid, and apparently that made him an exception.

“Yeah,” Brett confirmed. “Triss Marigold will be at the judge's table.”

The woman with fiery hair he'd met earlier. “Oh. I met her today. She's. . . nice.” He'd never thought he'd be able to say that about a sorceress. “I think she's knows about my magic. I felt something when I took her hand. But then she said she looked forward to hearing me sing and asked me to call her Triss.” 

Brett's brows rose. “You just tripped over her on your first day here and shook her hand,” he said, his tone incredulous.

Jaskier shrugged. “Actually I. . .” He cleared his throat, thinking about how he'd automatically ogled her breasts without thinking. Like Yennefer, Triss was gorgeous. “It doesn't matter. I'll either get to compete or I won't.” He'd be disappointed of course, but for some reason, it suddenly didn't bother him as much as he thought it might. Valdo's presence and their brief interaction downstairs reminded him that he had nothing to prove to anyone. And he'd already been defended by his audience, so he didn't think the garish man would get any traction with rumors no matter what he tried to say. They'd have to see. 

*******

The next day was the start of the competition on the main stage in the center of the Trade Quarter where singers would perform the songs they knew best for the crowd and the panel of judges. After a quick bath, Jaskier dressed in a doublet and trousers of light teal the color of tropical waters with mauve accents and embroidered hellebore flowers along the cuffs. He waited downstairs for Essi.

“You look lovely,” he said with a smile as she came down and he took in the new gown she wore. The fabric was a gold kissed, orangey peach with cream colored silk accents and gold stitching. Golden lacing cinched the bodice at her slim waist and made the full skirt flair out over her hips. There was just enough detail to look elegant without being overstated. That was how you designed an outfit to impress. The colors made her loose, curly hair look like spun gold and her dewy skin shone. She did a little twirl at the foot of the stairs and grinned. Brett came downstairs after her looking a little starstruck.

“Elihal does marvelous work,” Essi said as she came over and ran her hands lightly over the embroidery on Jaskier's tunic. “Let's go show 'em what we've got.”

They had a light breakfast before going to the main stage together. There was a modest crowd that was soon to get larger as the day went on, and several brightly dressed performers were waiting to take the stage. Sitting at the judges table were Freida, a music professor from Oxenfurt, Belmont, a retired troubadour with silver hair and a world weary smile, Reginald, the Poet Laureate of Toussaint, and Triss. This was a preliminary round that would function as a warm-up and introduction for the performers. 

Contestants were scattered through the audience and they came up one by one as they were announced by the herald. Two of the younger ones stuttered and shook so hard, they had to leave the stage. Jaskier sympathized. Performing for a large crowd for the first time could be terrifying and they'd likely never sang for anyone outside of their villages. There were several others who were made of sterner stuff and they performed ably, if simply. A few had true talent. And then it was Valdo's turn. Today he was wearing a bright red outfit that was harsh on the eyes under the sunlight. His taste really was all in his mouth. Jaskier told himself to keep an open mind. Just because he was a badly dressed asshole didn't mean he'd be a bad singer.

And then he started singing Midday Maiden.

Jaskier bristled immediately and snarled at the stage as he heard his own song being sung by someone he was gradually growing to hate. Valdo gave him a nasty, knowing smile in return. It wasn't against the rules to sing someone else's song at this stage, but it was considered rude at best. 

“That sack of shit,” Essi spat beside him. “He's not even getting the words right.”

Indeed, Valdo wasn't quite butchering the lyrics, but he'd altered some of the verses to suit his own preferences. It changed the cadence and threw off the entire rhyming scheme. Jaskier was going quickly from bristling annoyance to full on insulted. It wasn't a horrible performance, per se, but the song had essentially been ruined. That's probably what pissed him off the most. There was some modest applause, which didn't seem to be what Valdo was expecting. Jaskier felt a quick wash of petty satisfaction as the other man sauntered off the stage in a huff. 

Essi was next and she got some applause just by stepping onto the boards. She smiled sweetly at the crowd and started singing Rain on the Road. It was a song about a person weeping for their love they waited for them to return from traveling abroad. Each stanza became increasingly more maudlin as the person became convinced that something terrible had happened to their love on the road during their travels. It built and the crowd nearly swooned. At the end of the song, the person's love had not yet returned and the candle in the window had burned down low as they continued to wait patiently. The ending was left open to interpretation.

There was more than one person in the crowd dabbing at their eyes. Essi bowed gently and stepped down off the stage. Brett drew her into his arms and kissed her cheek. Jaskier was fairly certain she'd written it while she was waiting for him to come back to her while he was on a trip with Stellan's caravan. She was a lot like Jaskier in that regard. She used her music to work through how she felt. Smoothing a hand softly over her shoulder, Jaskier stepped forward when his name was called.

He bowed slightly to the crowd as they applauded for him. He strummed a few bars on his lute and the applause grew as he plucked out the notes for Sunshine at Midnight. It was popular and it would be a good opening for what he had planned for his final competitive performance the day after tomorrow. The crowd sighed at the description of Jaskier's love for Geralt hidden behind a story of lost souls coming together in the dark by the light of a fire. The applause was much louder for Jaskier than it had been for Valdo. When he was finished, Jaskier winked at Valdo who was glowering from the audience. 

Essi kissed Jaskier's cheek as he came down off the stage. “He can sing every single one of your songs, but he could never perform them better than you.”

“Thanks.” 

They stayed and listened to the rest of the performers. One young man was especially good with a velvety rich voice, but Jaskier saw a dark glower on Triss's face where she sat at the judges table. She made a small gesture with her fingers and the singer cut off with a strangled hiccup. His hand went to his throat as he tried to speak, his expression panicked. It turned into fear as Triss rose and strode out onto the stage, looking elegant in a slim gown of emerald green. She held out her hand and moved her palm, hovering over the young man's torso for a moment as if she were looking for something. Stopping just above his left hip, she reached forward and plucked something out of one of his pockets. She held it up so the small medallion dangled from its chain.

“Magical charms are against the rules,” she said. “You are disqualified.”

“It's just for luck,” the young man stammered. But his voice gave away the ruse. Instead of rich velvet, the sound was a thin, reedy whine that cracked. He closed his mouth and stumbled away from the stage in shame as people made a wide path for him like they didn't want to touch him. Boos and hisses followed him until he took off at a run. 

“Now,” Triss said, addressing the audience. “That's all for the first round. The second will take place this afternoon. Contestants, please come forward to receive the prompt for the next phase.”

Now here was where the the dabblers would be separated from the poets and musicians. The second part of the competition was for writing and composing. Everyone would receive a word or phrase and they needed to write a poem based on the provided prompt before reciting it for the judges and the audience later in the afternoon. Then they'd need to write a song based on the poem and perform it during the third part tomorrow morning. After the third phase, there would be a ceremony in the afternoon to announce the winners of the composition portion of the festival. Then they would proceed to the fourth round the next day where they'd perform a new, original piece they'd prepared in advance for the crowd. The winner would take home a large purse, the title of Bardic Champion, and a shit ton of bragging rights. 

One by one, the contestants came to the judges' table where Frieda handed each of them a slip of parchment. Jaskier took his with a nod and a murmur of thanks before stepping aside and waiting for Essi. He found a relatively secluded nook between two merchant stalls and opened the folded piece of parchment that had his name on it. He stared down at the word as a bout of nerves made his stomach flutter.

Magic.

They wanted him to write a poem about magic and then sing about it. Was this a test? He looked up to see Triss watching him with a small smile. But she turned away and headed toward one of the nearby shops with the other judges, presumably to discuss the results the from the first round. He'd have to come up with something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize salmonberries were real until I was doing research on colors so I could describe them in detail. I thought they were made up for Stardew Valley.


	3. Refrain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello weekend. I'm so happy to see you, especially after the week I've had. I'm actually doing great despite enduring an astonishing amount of foolishness. I'm just extra happy to have a break. I hope you're all doing well.

Jaskier stood and stared down at the parchment in his hand with the word 'Magic' written on it in bold sweeping letters. He had to come up with a poem and a song using magic as his inspiration.

“What's wrong?” Essi asked him as she came over to peer at his paper. “Oh.” She held up her slip. “I got Summer. Do you want to trade?”

“No.” Jaskier tucked the parchment in his pocket. “I've got it. I have a feeling Triss thinks it's amusing. Besides,” he shrugged. “The prompts were assigned so they'd know that we switched.” 

“Let's go back to the inn and get started, then. All of my notebooks are in my room,” she said as they headed out of the square. A minstrel, who wasn't competing, had taken the stage and started singing to entertain the murmuring crowd. 

As they moved out of the square, Jaskier was jostled by someone brushing past him roughly and a feather smacked him the face, making him sputter. Valdo strode ahead without a word while he made a show of examining his parchment and then looking to the sky as if he were praying for inspiration. The prick. Jaskier exchanged a glance with Essi who rolled her eyes as they veered off into a side street to get away from him. 

“Who is that guy again?” Brett asked once they were out of earshot.

“I used to post songs online when I lived in Lettenhove. He kept leaving awful comments and sent me nasty emails. At the time, I was thinking about making videos instead of just posting audio tracks, but I got too nervous. He found out who I was and doxed me.” 

“For fuck's sake,” Brett muttered. “Why isn't he in jail?” 

“It didn't amount to much and nobody pressed charges. There weren't enough people online who gave a damn and it was too easy to find out where I lived because of my name. My family didn't even care that much, to be honest.” All he'd gotten from the family was an earful from an aunt who had thought the whole affair was unseemly. After giving him the third degree to find out what else he might have done to shame the family, she'd refused to speak to him for nearly a year. It had actually been a bit of a relief. “None of it matters now. He's just a spiteful dick. He's not completely untalented, but he'd be better if he stuck to his own work.”

“Want me to rough him up for you?”

Jaskier looked at Brett and realized he was completely serious. “You'd beat him up for me?”

Brett shrugged. “It wouldn't come to that. I could get him to leave you alone. I can be really convincing without leaving marks.” He glanced at Essi with a worried look as he realized what he'd just said in front of her. She just laughed and kissed his cheek.

“There's no reason to be nervous, Dear. I'd hold him down for you.”

“Both of you are terrible,” Jaskier said with an exasperated huff that turned into a quiet chuckle. “Thank you. But that's not necessary. I'd rather see him fall flat on his face all by himself. That would be far more satisfying. His childish bullshit isn't worth getting worked up over.” And for the first time since he'd been dealing with personal and artistic criticism, Jaskier actually believed it. It really wasn't worth his time and he felt lighter for it.

“True,” Brett admitted. “You're a better man than me.”

Jaskier wasn't sure that was true but didn't say anything as they came back into The Dove and Pheasant. They agreed to hang out separately while they got started and then they'd meet downstairs for lunch. Essi preferred quiet when she composed, but Jaskier liked the sound of people. Opening the balcony doors in his room, he pulled the chairs over so he could sit on the cushioned seat and put his feet up in the other. The babble of the crowd below was nice background noise to keep him company while he worked. 

He didn't want to write about magic in the literal sense. Magic was real in this world and not just a fantasy. He wanted to use the concept more as a metaphor, but he'd need to make it relatable so it wasn't all conceptual thoughts for the sake of art. Taking out one of the twine wrapped graphite pencils Coen had made for him, he started taking notes and writing down some ideas. 

By the time he got up and went down for lunch, he already had two verses written along with a refrain that he'd use later for the song. And there was a string of notes going through his head that he could use as a melody. It would need a few adjustments, but it was a good start. He'd jotted down a couple of things, but he'd wait until after performing the poem to let the sounds gel before he set the notes to paper. 

Essi was sitting at a table by herself with a mug of water next to her elbow looking glum. She sat back and pushed her notebook away with a huff before taking a drink.

“Having trouble?” Jaskier asked her.

“'Summer' isn't exactly inspiring,” she said. “I have ideas but a lot of them are vague or just cliche. I usually take more than a few hours to write poems, so this kind of time crunch is a challenge.”

“Any ideas on the music? You could start with the kind of sound you want and work from there.”

“Maybe. I want something bright and warm. Summer can be romantic.”

“Or hot as fuck,” Brett said as he came over with a platter of fruit, nuts, and bread with honey. 

“Not helping.” Essi plucked a few grapes from the platter and popped them in her mouth. “I warned you that this would be a lot of sitting around for you.”

“And I'm not complaining. It was merely an observation. The weather has been pretty good so far.” 

“And now you've doomed us to have rain the rest of the week by saying so,” Jaskier said with a grin. He dodged a grape and laughed. The temperature outside was hot, but not oppressively so.

“So how far have you gotten?” Essi said as she munched on nuts and spread honey on a piece of warm bread.

“I've got a good start. I just need one more solid verse before this afternoon and then I can polish up the song for tomorrow.”

Essi stopped with the bread halfway to her mouth. “Really? How did you come up with ideas that fast?”

Jaskier shrugged. “I write on the road all the time. It's habit at this point, so it feels normal. How long did it take you to come up with the songs for your first album?”

“Years.”

“Oh. I thought. . .”

“You thought I came up with all of that while we were in school together?” She laughed lightly. “If only. I used poems and stories I'd been writing since I was a kid. There's a reason I didn't make a second record. My manager was actually considering dropping me before. . . before I left the city.” Neither one of them mentioned Lettenhove falling to ruin. “Coming to the Wood provided a fresh batch of inspiration, but I still don't write that quickly.”

Jaskier opened his notebook and jotted down a couple more things before setting it aside and picking up the mug Pavel brought him. The water cooled his throat and he made a mental note to take a pitcher up to his room this evening after performing. They spent the rest of lunch chatting while they ate and continuing to make notes until it was time to head to the stage. 

The crowd was considerably larger when they arrived and the square was packed. Jaskier sighed in contentment as they found a spot off to one side and the chattering babble of conversation filled the air. A hush descended as Frieda took the stage. 

“Welcome to the second phase of the competition,” she said. “Poets, ready your compositions.” 

The prompts ranged from intangible things like emotions and seasons to common items like fruit and gems. It seemed that Jaskier was the only one who'd gotten a concept like magic. A few of the ones who were nervous during the first performance had gained some confidence for the second round. A couple had even come up with some clever poems. The limericks about the pear in a pear-shaped world got a lot of laughs. Others struggled with simplistic themes that they hadn't built upon with any depth. One of the more confident poets recited a few verses about the loneliness of winter on the moors where the cold wind blew wisps of snow across the heather. It was emotional and moving. 

Valdo's poem about Autumn and the warmth of the hearth at harvest was infuriatingly good, and it received a fair amount of applause. Jaskier seethed inwardly but had to acknowledge the possibility that the other man might work well under pressure. Maybe singing Jaskier's song had been just a provocation and not outright stealing. Jaskier really didn't know him after all.

Essi's poem about summer love had the audience sighing again. Despite her insistence that she had trouble writing in such a short amount of time, the finished product was really good. She patted Jaskier on the shoulder as he headed up the short stairs and onto the stage. Another hush fell over the crowd as he stood before them and Jaskier took a moment to appreciate the attention before starting his poem. 

It was about the magic of first meetings and finding a stranger that turns into a friend and then into more. The process of learning to know another was a magic all its own through preferences, moods, and how much you were willing to give. He paused again as his throat tightened a bit. His work was almost always based on something in his life, but he usually had more time to let it settle before he performed for other people. Steeling himself, Jaskier pushed through to the end to the gentle delight of the crowd. 

As he stepped down off the stage, Essi moved to hug him, but he shook his head slightly. She nodded before giving him some space. He was holding it together fairly well, but an embrace may open the flood gates and he didn't want to cry just now. Belmont was saying something to the crowd, but Jaskier didn't hear what he was saying as he tried to pull himself together. There was a cost to opening himself up like that. 

It was early evening now and everyone was starting to disperse for dinner. As Jaskier scanned the crowd, he saw a flash of white hair and black armor. 

“What's wrong?” Essi asked him. 

“Oh. Nothing, nothing. I just thought. . . I'll meet you at the inn unless . . .”

“Just go.” Essi shooed him away. “But if you're not there in an hour, we're sending out a search party.”

Jaskier made a face at her and she laughed. He felt better as he moved through the crowd, which was probably her intent. He kept catching glimpses of white hair and combined with the studded armor, it had to be Geralt. Why didn't he stay to talk to him? As Jaskier came around a street corner, he was able to hop up onto a small stone bench to see above the crowd. It really was Geralt and he was tucked into the doorway of a building with. . . Triss. Did they know each other? Jaskier blinked as the sorceress cupped Geralt's face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Oh. Okay. 

Jaskier couldn't see Geralt's expression from this angle, but from the disappointed look on Triss's face, the Witcher wasn't responding to her advances. It was hard to muster up the energy to feel jealous when she looked so unhappy. Both of them were probably more than a century old, so it was reasonable that they'd run across each other before. Jaskier had already told Geralt that it didn't matter who he'd been with before him. But two sorceresses? What were the odds? The hard line of Geralt's shoulders and the way he gestured at Triss told Jaskier he was probably here on business. If he hadn't come to talk to Jaskier, he probably thought it was too dangerous. Dammit. 

Sighing, Jaskier stepped down from the bench and ducked into a side street to head back toward the inn. He needed to put Geralt out of his mind and focus on the competition. But it was difficult to drag his thoughts away since things had been so weird between them lately. Jaskier was stung that Geralt hadn't even waved so Jaskier could see him. At the same time, he felt a flush of warmth that he'd come to see him perform at all. He could have contacted Triss anywhere, but he'd come to the square first. 

Stupid Witcher. 

Jaskier started humming the notes he'd been toying with for the tune of 'Spellbound,' his new song. He was going to adjust the poem to create lyrics describing the inescapable pull of meeting a person you couldn't get out of your mind. He'd have to come up with with something to make it clear no actual magic or spells were involved. Jaskier didn't want the song to be about someone being bewitched by magic. He thought uncomfortably of Yennefer and they way she'd been tied to Geralt with a wish. Geralt hadn't meant to do it. He'd been trying to save her life, and the wish had gone awry due the Jinn who'd granted it. Jaskier wondered idly where Jan was or if he was even in this world anymore. Some of the myths said Genies lived in other dimensions. It didn't matter, he supposed. 

He stopped walking and realized that he'd made a wrong turn and he was now at a dead end between buildings. Blowing out an irritated breath, Jaskier backtracked to find a main street so he could get his bearings. He was still somewhere in the Trade Quarter judging by the type of buildings. Pausing at an intersection at the corner of two buildings, he slowed at the sound of lowered voices. 

“Be sure to hit the high note, dear boy. Otherwise this whole endeavor will be a waste.” 

Jaskier peered around a crate to see Reginald talking to someone hidden from his view.

“You're sure I'll win with this?” Valdo asked. There was a muffled metallic chink as Reginald accepted a coin purse. 

“Of course, of course. You have my word as the Poet Laureate of Toussaint. Your win is assured.”

That cheating prick. No wonder his poem had been so good. Jaskier crouched quietly between two crates and held incredibly still as their meeting ended. Reginald passed right by his hiding spot without noticing. Valdo must have gone the other way, but Jaskier waited until he was sure they were both gone before leaving the alley himself. He really should go to the other judges with this. But he didn't know Belmont or Frieda, and he didn't feel comfortable going to Triss. He still wasn't sure about how he felt about her. 

But what could he do? He could tell them that Valdo was cheating with Reginald's help, but he had no proof. Both men would undoubtedly deny it and it would only be Jaskier's word against theirs. It wasn't like he could have taken a photo or videotape the exchange. Maybe he could go to Triss and she could read his mind. Maybe that would be enough. But just the thought of allowing the sorceress into his head willingly made a burst of adrenaline flower in his chest and his gut churned. Jaskier wasn't sure he could do that.

Sighing, he stepped out onto the main street and went straight back to the inn. He needed to eat something and think. And work on his song. He absolutely had to beat Valdo. Well, Jaskier didn't care so much about winning anymore as long as that asshole lost. He was still scowling as he stepped into the common room of The Dove and Pheasant. 

“Why the dark face?” Pavel asked him as Jaskier passed by the bar. “I heard your poem and it was wonderful.”

Jaskier softened his expression. “Thank you for the kind words, my friend. I'm just. . . having a difficult evening.”

“Well, I have a cure for that. I've a rare vintage from Toussaint that I've been saving for a special occasion.”

“Many thanks, but let's wait until after the final performance of the festival. Wine is rough on the voice. Do you have any tea with honey?”

“My apologies,” Pavel said with an apologetic nod. “I have a lovely tea blend Dimitri just brought back from the market along with some thistle honey from Maribor.” 

“That would be lovely.” Jaskier saw Essi gesturing toward him from across the room. “What's for dinner tonight?”

“We have lamb basted with lemon and rosemary along with mashed potatoes, honeyed carrots, and spinach fried with garlic and ginger.”

Jaskier's stomach gurgled quietly and he remembered how light lunch had been. “That sounds wonderful. Three plates and a pot of tea with the honey you mentioned please.” 

“My pleasure. It will be ready shortly.”

Jaskier went over to the table and set down his lute. 

“You look like you're ready to chew glass” Brett told him as he drank from his mug. 

“Well, it seems that our friend is paying for someone else to write and compose for him.”

“What?” Essi glared. “How can you be sure?”

“I heard him talking to Reginald and he handed him money.”

“Did you see them?” Brett asked. “We can report the bastards.”

“Ah, shit. No. I didn't actually see them together. I got lost in a back alley and I was trying not to be seen. I heard them talking to each other, but I only saw Reginald accept a bag of coins.”

“Shit.” Essi and Brett swore in unison.

“You know we're going to have to beat him, right?” she said.

“Well, of course we are. I don't even care who gets the title now as long as it's not him. Pavel's bringing dinner over and then I'm going up to finish my song.”

“Same here,” Essi said. 

When they were settled with plates and mugs of delicate floral tea, they toasted each other. 

“To beating cheating dicks,” Essi said and they all laughed. 

“I'm glad you're here with me,” Jaskier told her after he calmed down. “I don't think I'd want to do this myself.”

“It's my pleasure, Darling.”


	4. Second Verse

The next morning, Essi and Jaskier were raring to go for the third part of the competition. It seemed that vengeance was a strong motivator and they'd both finished their songs the night before with only a few tweaks needed after breakfast. 

Brett looked between the two of them warily. “Remind me not to piss either of you off.”

“What?” Jaskier asked. 

“You look like you're going to physically stomp on your competition.”

“Only with words, Dearest,” Essi said with a sweet smile and a savage glint in her eye. 

Jaskier was actually looking forward to hearing the other competitors play. One of the joys of music was listening to other people and the music they created. It was just as important to listen as it was to sing yourself. Beating Valdo was just a bonus.

The morning crowd in the square was nearly as large as it had been yesterday afternoon. Jaskier looked to the judges table, but Triss seemed as calm and collected as ever. There was no sign of Geralt anywhere which was a little disappointing, but he should have expected as much. He was probably out hunting whatever he'd come here for.

Frieda stepped forward to introduce the third phase of the competition and wished everyone luck. She also had a couple announcements to make before they started. Two of the competitors had dropped out the night before due to nerves, but the rest seemed more at ease now that they'd gotten a feel for the crowd. 

'Pear in a Pear-Shaped World' was sung to a happy, lilting beat that had the audience clapping along. 'Winter's Sorrow' was a somber piece plucked out on a mandolin with a light, delicate touch on the strings. 'Autumn's Bounty' was alright, but Valdo's technique on the lute had no nuance, and his lack of experience showed. While the lyrics were good, Reginald couldn't actually sing the song for him. The high note put a strain on Valdo's voice and he had to compensate by going down an octave on the second verse. It wasn't completely out of place, but it was obvious that it hadn't been the original intent. Reginald was glowering from the judge's table, clearly unhappy. The song received a modest amount of applause, but Valdo clearly expected more. 

Essi got a much more lively response as she sang 'Solstice Lover,' and the bright notes floated over the crowd like a warm breeze. There was an ease to her performance that Jaskier had always admired and her prose was beautiful. He would be extremely happy if she won. When it came time for his turn, Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself. This was a new song and there hadn't been enough time last night to massage the wording and music as much as he usually would. As easy as it was to write on the road, he usually workshopped his songs and adjusted them based on audience response and his own intuition. He'd be performing this one cold today and that was a little nerve-wracking. 

The crowd hushed for him again as he sang 'Spellbound'. The story of first meetings and lingering thoughts about another person made the crowd sigh wistfully. Jaskier put his heart into the words as he played. But his fingers stumbled on the strings as someone shouted.

“He's using magic!” 

The crowd started to murmur, making him nervous as it shook him out of his performance. 

“See. It stopped when his focus wavered.”

“Yeah,” another joined in. “He's probably casting some sort of spell.” 

Jaskier stilled the strings with his hand and frowned, but couldn't see who was speaking. It didn't sound like Valdo. The murmuring became louder and Jaskier stood there feeling anxious. He was too worried to be annoyed. Had his magic risen while he was singing? It still happened without him knowing sometimes no matter how much he tried to practice controlling it. He chewed on his lip in a nervous gesture before he could stop himself. Fidgeting wouldn't help him and anything he said would probably just sound pathetic.

“Enough.” Triss didn't raise her voice, but it rang out over the square and people quieted down. “Step forward to present your evidence,” she said. Her expression remained passive and when Jaskier tried to catch her eye, she ignored him. Nobody said anything in response to her request. “If you don't provide a reason for your accusation, the performance will resume. Uninterrupted,” she added as she gazed out over the crowd. The last word hung in the air, a threat and a promise all in one. Though Jaskier could feel the magic amplifying her voice, her vocal control was still impressive. 

The crowd was tense and quiet for a few moments. 

“It's Jaskier,” someone else called. “He doesn't need magic to be good.” 

There was a murmur of agreement as the tension started to ease.

“Let him sing. I want to hear the rest.”

“Yeah.”

“Finish the song!”

Calming in the wake of the audience calling for him to perform, Jaskier strummed a few chords as he settled himself. “Forgive the interruption, dear friends,” he said before picking up where he left off with relative ease. It helped that he occasionally had to stop mid-chord while singing in taverns. In the early days, it had been while he was dodging things that were thrown at him, and later it was so he could take a sip of a drink or sometimes sidestep a bar fight. It was easy to continue, and the warmth of emotion from the song made him relax as he sang. When he finished, the crowd erupted with applause and he swept a gallant bow over his lute before stepping down. 

He leaned into Essi as she wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him close. “Fuck those assholes,” she murmured. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” Belmont said from the stage. “We'd like to thank this year's performers for their excellent efforts. We shall reconvene this afternoon to award the prize for composition. Along with a modest purse, the winner shall receive a golden quill and a crystal inkwell.”

“I bet Mateo is gong to get it for his winter song,” Essi said with a sigh. “At least he's genuinely talented. I'm content with that.”

Jaskier chuckled and steered her towards the edge of the square. “Don't give up that easily. 'Solstice Lover' is a lovely piece. You don't give yourself enough credit. But you never know. Maybe the judges have a thing for pears. That one was pretty catchy.”

Essi thumped him on the arm. “I didn't have enough time,” she grumped. “I'm not completely happy with it.”

“How about some commerce therapy?” 

She clapped her hands. “Oooo. Shopping. Excellent idea. I've been fussing so much over my song, I haven't really had a chance to look at the market stalls.” During their college years, he and Essi had spent many an afternoon at the mall perusing the shops. They'd split their time between spending their trust fund and royalties on clothes and trying to find the ugliest pair of shoes. 

“I'm out, then,” Brett said as he started backing away casually. “I'll meet you at the inn for lunch in an hour.” He huffed a laugh when Essi gave him a knowing look. “Or two hours maybe. Have fun,” he said before slipping into the crowd.

“Geralt isn't a fan of shopping either.”

“Probably because you make him carry all the bags,” Essi said as she bumped her shoulder against his arm.

Jaskier put on his best Geralt voice, trying to rumble the way the Witcher did. “I can't protect you if my hands are full of unnecessary shit.” 

Essi laughed in delight. “Oh, that's lovely. Has he heard that bit?”

“Many times.” But he didn't find it nearly as funny as Jaskier did. 

Taking Jaskier's arm, Essi leaned comfortably against him as they walked. “Is everything okay? You were trying to tell me something before tall, dark, and dimwitted walked in the other night.”

“It's fine. . .” He sighed as his standard put off excuse came tumbling out of his mouth. “It's actually been a bit weird lately. Geralt is. . . he's a little more closed off than usual. More like when we first met.” Jaskier hadn't really told her much about the Witcher beyond the basics. Most of the time, the other man had been with them and it was hard to gossip about someone when they were sitting right next to you. And it hadn't really felt right. As much as Jaskier enjoyed teasing him, he also felt protective enough of the other man's feelings to keep some comments to himself. But he really missed Essi's guidance and advice. They'd spent so many nights talking to each other when they were in school. And after that, they'd spent as much time at each other's apartments as their own.

“Have you talked to the other Witchers about it?” she asked. “They'd know him better than anyone.” 

“They said it's normal. There was this thing with one of his exes-”

“Exes, as in plural?” Essi looked up at him with raised brows.

“He's probably at least a century old, Es. Of course he's been with more than one person.” 

“Even though. . .”

“Yes. Even though he's a Witcher. They're pariahs, not celibate monks.”

“Right, sorry.” She drew him over towards a jeweler's stall before they could pass it by so they could look at the sparkly baubles. Most of them were a bit too ostentatious and the coloring was off, so the quality of the metal was suspect. They were not worth the asking price. Ignoring the simpering vendor, they moved on. 

“It's hard to talk to him about it,” Jaskier said as they kept walking. “He's . .” Jaskier sighed. “He has trouble with emotions. Most of the time, he keeps it in until it makes him miserable. It's hard for him to talk about it. He was starting to open up, but it's like he's regressed a bit.”

“You might have to be patient and let him work his way through it.”

“I've been trying. It's just. . . I've never been with anyone this long.” It had been nearly four years now. The longest before this had been Sebastian and that had only been for six months. “Is this what it's like when you're with someone forever?” Jaskier thought about Yennefer and wondered how long she and Geralt had known each other. How long had they been together? Geralt never talked about her even when Jaskier asked. 

“I don't know,” Essi said quietly. “It's kinda scary. To think about being with someone for the rest of your life.”

Jaskier stopped and looked down at her. “Are you and Brett that serious?”

“I. . .I think so.” She blew out a breath. “Wow. Yeah. I'm pretty sure we are.” She looked up at him. “But he's on the road so much. The trip from Oxenfurt to here is the longest one we've been able to take together. Is that enough to know if it will work?”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “I'm the wrong person to ask. I have no idea.”

Essi leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I think it's worth it though.” 

“It is,” Jaskier agreed as he kissed her hair. “Come on. I want to take you to the fabric stall I found the other day. He's got some good stuff buried under the overpriced scraps.” 

Nodding, she took his hand and let him lead her to the piles of fabrics. There was new stock today and they spent some time flipping through the bolts looking for pleasing patterns and textures. 

“Ooo, this is lovely,” she said as she petted a soft bolt of forest green. “This would make a great winter robe for when it's cold. The university can be so drafty in the winter.”

“Will you be lecturing again this fall?”

“I don't think so, but I've been invited back to tutor and give workshops, which is actually better. I like getting to work with students one on one.” She pulled out a bolt of pale blue silk. “You think Elihal will make something for me if I bring him fabric?”

“Oh, absolutely. I'll have to show you the red brocade I got the other day.” Jaskier plucked out a rich apricot silk with sage embroidery and gold accents. It was a bit loud for an entire doublet, but if it was paired with the right thing it could work. 

“Oh, this one is nice too,” Essi said. She held up a bolt of bluish gray silk that shimmered in the light and draped it over Jaskier's shoulder.. “This makes your eyes shift between gray and blue.” 

Clothing shopping in the Wood was a bit different than buying something from a clothing store in a Modern City. Clothes weren't mass produced since they had to be sewn by hand. There had been many attempts to adapt sewing machines to the Wood by using simplistic designs, but none of them worked properly. Surprisingly, Jaskier found that discussing fabrics and designs was an easy substitute for clothes shopping. There just weren't as many impromptu fashion shows. The vendor remembered him and didn't hassle him too much about the price, especially since he seemed to appreciate the repeat business. 

They stopped at another stall to buy a couple bottles of wine to either toast or drown the outcome of the festival. One last purchase of delicately decorated chocolates got eaten immediately, and it topped off the morning nicely before they headed back to the inn. Brett was waiting and his lips curled in a small smile as he saw the packages as they went upstairs to drop them off in their rooms. When they got downstairs, a meal of barley soup and fresh bread was waiting for them.

“Good shopping trip?” Brett asked around a mug of ale. 

“Very,” Essi confirmed as she dug into her bowl. The soup was light but satisfying and Jaskier took his time savoring it while Essi filled in Brett on all the things they'd seen. Watching the two of them together made him smile. There was an easy affection between them along with a sense of trust and comfort that made him feel better about their future. If only Brett's job weren't so dangerous. His gaze lingered on Essi as she excused herself for a few minutes.

“What's that goofy look for?” Brett's words snapped Jaskier out of his musing. 

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.” Jaskier grinned. “So what are your plans after this?” 

Brett took a long sip form his mug before setting it carefully on the table again. “I uh. . . I was thinking about leaving the caravan.”

Jaskier set down his spoon. “It's not because of what I said, is it?” He hadn't wanted him to quit. Well, he had, but not because of him. It needed to be his choice.

“No. I was already thinking about it when you ripped me a new one last year.” He sighed. “I'm. . . tired.”

“Tired of traveling?”

“No. Actually, I was thinking about traveling with Essi while she sings her way around the kingdoms. If she'll have me. I've got quite a bit saved up, and I can get odd jobs around the university during the winter. Listen-” Brett licked his lips nervously. “You're her only family and I'm not sure when I'll get another chance to ask you.”

“You're not seriously asking me for my blessing are you? It's Essi's choice, not mine.” Jaskier regretted the way he'd lectured him last summer in Novigrad, but he was glad he'd talked to him. Brett was more honest with Essi now about what he did and that knowledge might help keep her safe. 

“No. I don't need your permission,” Brett snapped irritably and took another drink of his ale. “But I want to make sure you and I are. . . okay, I guess.”

“Yes, Brett. We're okay.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it absently. “I just wanted you to be honest with her. Essi is her own person and she adores you. I'm not going to stand in your way like some controlling asshole.”

Brett blew out a breath. “Okay.”

“Did you really think I was going to tell you no?”

“No,” Brett grumbled. “Look. This is weird. I don't know how to. . .it's just weird, okay. I never thought I'd live long enough to. . .” He trailed off, his eyes dropping down to his bowl. “It's not a safe line of work. And now. . . there's so much more to think about. It's not just about me anymore.”

“Yeah. It's different when you're with another person.” 

“I want to be with her, but it's hard when I'm hardly there.”

“Have you talked to Stellan yet?”

“Yeah. And Vaz understands. He keeps asking me how long I'm going to wait.” Brett huffed a laugh. “The asshole gets himself stabbed and suddenly he starts worrying about _my_ love life.”

Jaskier smiled. “How's he doing?”

“Oh, he recovered fine and he's his usual dickhead self again.”

“Does he have anyone?”

“Nah. For as long as I've known him, he's never been interested in having a romantic partner.” Brett shrugged. “He's content to be on his own. But he's always gotten more out of our work with Stellan than I ever did. It's been good work, but I knew it wasn't going to be a lifelong job. I'm ready for something more.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while until Essi returned.

“Maneuvering a dress out of the way to pee is the worst,” she huffed as she sat again and settled her skirts.

“I wouldn't know,” Brett said as reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, it's definitely the worst,” Jaskier confirmed. “Remember that ruffled monstrosity with all the petticoats? I had a hell of a time keeping it out of the line of fire.”

Essi grinned. “But you were so pretty.” Taking a sip from her mug, she sobered. “So I heard some people talking when I came back in. Apparently, there are rumors about a monster in the city that's been killing people.”

“What kind of monster?” Brett asked. 

“Dunno. Nobody wants to talk about it and it's just rumors. I guess it's been quiet lately, but everyone's wondering when it will start again. Jaskier, do you know where Geralt is now?”

“He's in the city actually. I saw him yesterday.”

“And he didn't say anything to you?” She said her brow raised.

Jaskier shrugged and tried not to let it bother him. “No. I figured he was here on business and if he thought it was safe, he'd talk to me about it. He's probably worried that I'll try to follow him.”

“Will you?” Brett's tone was both a question and a warning.

“No, I'm not going to go traipsing off after him on a hunt. I have my own business here making sure that prick Valdo doesn't win. I'll try to find Geralt when the festival is over.” He didn't mention that he'd seen him talking to Triss. He still wasn't sure what it meant.


	5. Bridge

There was a fair bit of anticipation in the square. It seemed like there hadn't been much for entertainment in the city for a while, and the crowd was drinking it all in while they had the chance. Maybe there was something to those monster rumors. 

All four judges stood on the stage, all of them holding the prizes. There was the pouch, along with the golden quill and crystal inkwell. Second and third place would would receive a silver and bronze quills and inkwells respectively. Bertrand stepped forward with the something that looked like a peacock feather. 

“Before we announce the winners, I would like to present a special prize for the most entertaining entry and a lovely bit of music that deserves recognition. For the delightful 'Pear in a Pear Shaped World,' I would like to present this peacock feather pen to Morris Fletcher of Aldersburg.”

Morris stepped forward with a grin, seemingly not at all perturbed that he hadn't won the grand prize. On stage, he cheerfully accepted the bright feather that had been set in a golden pen base before doffing his hat and bowing grandly for the cheering crowd. Jaskier had a feeling that the song would spread quickly. It really was catchy.

Frieda stepped forward with the bronze feather pen and inkwell. “In third place, with a lovely, soft piece about love in the summer, I would like to present this prize to Essi Daven of Lettenhove for 'Solstice Lover.'”

Essi giggled in surprise as she stepped forward to accept. She curtsied lightly for the crowd and accepted the judges' thanks before stepping back down again. 

“Congratulations,” Jaskier told her as he kissed her cheek. 

Surprisingly, Triss stepped forward with the silver award for second place. Jaskier thought that she'd be the one to present first prize for composing. The red haired sorceress addressed the crowd with a calm smile.

“In second place, for a sweet song about the magic of love at first sight, I would like to present this prize to Jaskier of Lettenhove for 'Spellbound.'"

Jaskier blinked in surprise. After the fuss and accusations that morning, he didn't think he'd had a chance of winning anything. But the crowd didn't seem to mind as they cheered and patted him on the back while he headed to the stage to accept the award. As Triss handed it to him, he heard her voice in his head even though her mouth wasn't moving. 

“ _You have earned this. Whatever your magic is, it's unconscious and harmless. And more importantly, not against the rules._ ” She winked at him on the last word and he grinned stupidly as he took the quill and inkwell. 

“Thank you.” He turned in a bit of a daze and bowed for the crowd. There was a fair amount of knowing chuckles from those who thought he was starstruck by the sorceress. Jaskier was too surprised and happy to care. Even Valdo's triumphant grin wasn't enough to dampen his mood. The prick thought he'd won, but Jaskier had a feeling that the other man was about to be disappointed. Jaskier stepped back down to rejoin Essi and Brett feeling strangely satisfied.

“You don't have a thing for her, do you?” Brett asked him cautiously. “I know your taste in partners is dangerous, but this would be a bit much.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No. I'll tell you later.”

The crowd waited in anticipation, but Jaskier and Essi only had eyes for Valdo as Reginald stepped forward with the items for first prize. Valdo was preening and straightening his clothes like he was preparing himself to go up and accept. There was a chance that he would win, but one look at the fake smile on Reginald's face said otherwise. 

“The first place prize in the composing competition goes to a newcomer who has displayed talent and depth with a wistful song about the loneliness of Winter. I would like to present this prize to Mateo Erobyn of Poviss for 'Winter's Sorrow.'”

Jaskier watched Valdo's expression darken and shift into disappointed shock as Mateo went up to graciously accept the prize. When Valdo glanced in their direction, Jaskier and Essi grinned and waved their quills at him. He snarled and pushed his way out of the crowd toward the edge of the square. A couple people followed in his wake. It appeared that he'd found himself some semblance of an entourage. Jaskier idly wondered if he'd paid them. 

“Don't goad him,” Brett murmured. 

It was a relatively gentle, and hypocritical admonishment coming from a man who had offered to threaten Valdo into leaving Jaskier alone just the day before. And while it was in poor taste to rub it in, it was oh, so satisfying to get the upper hand on someone who was so full of themselves. He was a cheating hack who deserved to be disappointed. 

“It's just the once,” Jaskier said. 

“Yeah. Let us enjoy the moment,” Essi added. “I'm am completely happy with how this turned out no matter how tomorrow goes.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Jaskier told her as they headed out of the square. “Seriously. You've had time to prepare your song for the finale and you still won an award for a rushed piece even though you weren't completely happy with it. Think of how well you're going to do with something you've been able to spend more time on.”

“It _is_ pretty good,” she admitted.

“And it kept getting better the more you worked on it.” Brett slipped an arm around her waist. “I've been listening to it for weeks, and it's still amazing.”

“That's the best compliment,” she said. “If you can still stand to listen to it after all this time, then it must be good.” 

After dropping off their prizes at the inn, they spent the afternoon watching the various performances around the city. There were also a fair amount of games. Checkers, chess, and cards were played in inns and taverns all over the city, and space had been cleared along the city walls for ring toss, horse shoes, and bowling. While there were obviously no modern bowling alleys in the Wood with lacquered lanes and ball return machines, the game was still played in most places.

They spent some time bowling and playing ring toss. The three of them were equally competitive, but the other two had an advantage. Apparently, there was a bowling league in Oxenfurt where Essi and Brett played regularly, but Jaskier still had fun even though he lost most of the time. All in all, it was a nice afternoon.

On the way back to The Dove and Pheasant for dinner, they were coming down a side street that was packed with cheering people. They were spilling out of an alley where a fighting circle had formed. Money was passing hands and bets were called. The sun was going down, leaving the streets between buildings in shadow since most of the lanterns hadn't been lit yet.

“Let's go around,” Essi suggested. The atmosphere was charged in a way that made them wary. But before they could head back, more people crowded in behind them, blocking the way.

“Shit,” Brett muttered. “Hang on.” He took Essi's hand and she grabbed Jaskier's so they could stay together. 

A bell started ringing nearby and everyone started shouting and shoving. “The city watch is coming!” somebody hissed. 

Jaskier found himself being jostled and he lost hold of Essi's hand. He caught Brett's eye briefly. “Just go. I'll catch up,” he yelled before the crowd separated them completely. 

The other man hissed out an angry breath but nodded and wrapped his arm around Essi and guided her toward the edge of the crowd while blocking the worst of the commotion. Jaskier barely had time to get his bearings before he was shoved forward into someone else. His nose slammed into their shoulder and they swore before whirling and punching him in the face. The blow to his cheekbone stunned him as his eyes started watering and the whole thing turned into a free for all. The bells got louder and the fighting got more fierce as people were violently trying to get away while others just stirred up the fray. Jaskier tried to get out of the alley as strong fingers gripped his doublet and shook him.

“You're under arrest!” a man shouted in his face.

“I wasn't even-” Another blow cut off Jaskier's words and made him dizzy. He had a brief moment to wonder if he'd be able to heal himself before anyone noticed before he was shoved back against the stone wall of a building. The back of his head rapped against the stone and he was unconscious before he slumped to the ground.

*******

Jaskier woke slowly with a pounding head and the sting of a split lip. He could taste blood in his mouth and his ribs were sore. He hadn't received any body blows in the alley. Someone must have kicked him while he was down. His blurry vision showed him the shadowed, stone and iron bar interior of a jail cell. He sat up quickly and immediately regretted it as nausea swirled in his belly. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. The place reeked of unwashed bodies, piss, and other things. His nose twitched at the scent of stale alcohol on his clothes and saw that he wore a filthy shirt, brown trousers, and worn boots that were two sizes too big. Glancing around the cell, he saw a man wearing his teal doublet and trousers. Jaskier got to his feet, but before he could go over and confront him, two larger men blocked the way, making him press back into the wall. They looked vaguely familiar. 

The jingling sound of a key in the outer door rang off the stone and the two retreated quickly. Three guards walked in and looked around the cells dispassionately. One of them glanced at the list he carried. 

“Alright, all musicians have been pardoned. Step forward.”

Jaskier saw a couple competitors and a few other people step forward towards the bars.

“Not you, Cranshaw,” one of the guards barked. “Get your thieving ass back against the wall where you belong.” 

A weaselly little man slumped back against the stones with a sullen sniff.

Jaskier went up to the bars and sneered at the man who had stolen his clothes but said nothing until the guard came over.

“Name?” the guard asked, sounding bored.

Before Jaskier could say anything, the other man spoke. “Jaskier the Bard. From Lettenhove.”

“No, you're not!” Jaskier spat as he pressed against the bars. “This man stole my fucking clothes! _I'm_ Jaskier.”

The guard looked between the two of them and then settled his disbelieving gaze on Jaskier. “You don't look like a bard.” His nose twitched. “You don't smell like one either.”

Jaskier looked around at the other musicians but nobody would meet his eyes. “You've got to be kidding me. All of you saw me on stage. I won second place for composition.” But he couldn't remember any of their names. He didn't have anything on him that could prove his identity and no one was in a hurry to come to his defense.

“No,” the impostor said, reasonably. “ _I_ won second place. This pathetic man is lying.”

“These aren't the clothes I was wearing when I was brought here,” Jaskier protested. “Somebody had to have seen this asshole making the switch.” Again, nobody said anything. “Let me speak to Triss Marigold,” Jaskier pleaded. “She knows me.”

The guard laughed out loud. “Yeah, right. We'll just waltz up to the castle and ask the king's advisor to come down here. Dream on.” 

“Well, send someone to The Dove and Pheasant then. My friends Brett Merrill and Essi Daven can vouch for me as well as Pavel, the owner-” Jaskier stumbled back in the ill fitting boots as the guard kicked the bars, narrowly missing his fingers.

“Keep back, lying scum.” 

The other two guards drew their swords and Jaskier put his hands up and backed up against the wall as they gestured to the man wearing Jaskier's clothes to come forward.

“This isn't FAIR!” Jaskier yelled. 

“Shut up before we shut you up,” one of the guards said. 

Jaskier bit his lip and fought not to slump down to the floor as his knees started shaking. Depending on who they thought he was, he could be in real trouble. He didn't dare ask for Geralt since he didn't know what the guards thought of Witchers. After everyone was escorted out, the only people left were Cranshaw the thief, a snoring drunk who'd slept through the whole thing, and the two men in Jaskier's cell who had stood in his way. He now recognized them as two of the men that had followed Valdo out of the square earlier that day. Did that piece of shit have something to do with this?

A single guard sat at a table in the main room between the cells, but he ignored Jaskier's attempts to talk to him. Jaskier was similarly ignored by the replacement guard that came in later. He had to get out of here. The only upside to any of this was that nobody was actively bothering him. The two men who shared his cell didn't seem interested in hurting him, but they paid far too much attention when he tried to convince the guard who he really was. 

When Jaskier started to have trouble keeping his eyes open, he curled up on the hard pallet against the wall. Passing out from exhaustion wouldn't do him any good. He sang softly under his breath the relieve the aches and pains of his bruises, hoping that the rapid healing wouldn't catch anyone's attention. With his luck, he'd end up being burned as a witch. He dozed a bit, but had trouble sleeping. 

Sometime later, he heard the jingle of keys and wondered if they were changing the guard again. Maybe the one who arrested him would come in and recognize him. Then someone would finally believe his story. There were low, murmured voices as two newcomers in royal livery talked to the guard who'd been sleeping at the table.

“We need another one,” one of them said.

“Again? We don't have any more with death sentences. These are all in for petty shit,” the guard said. 

“Doesn't matter. We need another one,” the second man said. “King's orders.”

“Shit.” The guard looked around and when he saw Jaskier, his lip curled. “Take the loud one.”

One of the men in the cell with Jaskier looked up sharply. “What?” 

The second man elbowed him. “Shut up, Brill.”

“We were just supposed to keep him off the stage, not get him killed.”

Jaskier stood. “You _what_?”

“Brill, cut it out.”

“No way, Dirk. I'm not getting an innocent man eaten. It doesn't matter how much that preening fuck paid us.” Brill stood as the door was opened and the two new guards moved to come in. “There's been a huge misunderstanding. That really is Jaskier. We were hired to-”

“Out of the way, peasant,” one of the royal guards said as he shoved him out of the way. 

Brill's eyes widened as his back hit the wall. His gaze flicked between the guards and Jaskier. “But-”

“Shut up unless you want to join him,” the second guard said as he pulled a set of manacles out of the bag he carried. Jaskier backed up but there was nowhere to go before they were on him. 

“Let go!” he cried as he was spun around and shoved face first into the wall. His hands were pulled behind him and the cold iron of the manacles clicked shut, squeezing his wrists in a tight grip. The jingle of the chain connecting them made his heart pound. “This is a a huge mistake! I'm not supposed to be here! I- augh!” Jaskier was cut off by a hard cuff to his ear that rapped his temple against the stone.

“Sheesh. He really is loud. Shut him up, will you?” one of the guards muttered as the second one gagged Jaskier with a thick strip of fabric and pulled a sackcloth hood over his head. Jaskier howled behind the gag as his vision was blocked and he fought. Something hard hit the back of his head and he crumpled in their grip. He was only half conscious as his ankles were bound. He could hear Brill muttering how sorry he was.

“We were all going to get bailed out tomorrow after the competition,” he said, his voice thin and frightened. 

“Oh, grow a pair, Brill,” Dirk hissed. “Told ya we should have just grabbed him and kept him somewhere.”

“This should have worked! And we couldn't risk pissing off his. . . oh, shit. The Witcher. The fucking _Witcher_!”

Jaskier roused a bit at the mention of Geralt but the guards were already bundling him out of the room. He whined behind the gag but didn't have the strength to struggle as Brill's panicked voice faded into the distance.

“Why do we get the shit detail?” One of the guards muttered.

“Because you were stupid enough to sleep with the captain's wife, shithead.”

Maybe Jaskier's could get someone's attention. King's orders or not, it was unusual for a prisoner to be bound and gagged before being secreted out of the jail at night. Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure since he hadn't spent much time in Vizima. Maybe this was normal. Jaskier grunted as he was slung over the saddle of a horse and tied in place. The bag had been secured so it didn't come off as they rode and the saddle punched into his middle as they broke into a gallop. His consciousness faded in and out as he was taken somewhere. 

When Jaskier finally came to, he was laying on his side on the stones. He could hear the horses retreating into the distance, leaving him alone. His ankles were still bound and when he tried to sit up, he could feel that the chain on the manacles binding his hands had been secured to something. Biting back a whimper, he tried not to panic as he shook his head and maneuvered the sack so it finally loosened enough to fall away. He breathed a sigh of relief as a cool breeze brushed his sweaty face. But his relief didn't last long. 

He was in a crumbling courtyard of some ruin and as the full moon started to rise, he could see the hollow, broken down remains of what must have been a beautiful castle once. He sat up and checked the bindings to see that he'd been chained to a ring that was bolted into the stone. He wasn't getting out of here on his own. The scrabble of something against the rock drew his attention and Jaskier's breath caught in his throat. There was a silhouette of a large, muscled creature prowling along the broken roof line. 

He wasn't alone here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. He can't stay out of trouble. While this story isn't tagged as part of the "Kidnap the Bard Newsletter," it has my second favorite tag: "Jaskier in Distress."


	6. Chorus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING:  
> There is a description of a panic attack inside an enclosed space in the middle of this chapter. It starts as “the first kiss of dawn peeked through” and then ends at the break. It's on par with the scene where Jaskier panicked inside the MRI machine during 'Into the Wood'. 
> 
> Please consider your preferences and health before reading.

Jaskier sat motionless, hoping that the beast would ignore him, but he heard it sniff the air and it shifted to look into the courtyard where he sat helpless. His breathing quickened as it started creeping down the crumbling tiles. He started humming something calming and it paused, its head cocked to the side as if it were listening. Continuing to hum, he pushed at the gag with his tongue and rubbed his cheek against his shoulder until he was finally able to push it out of his mouth. The damp fabric hung limply around his neck as he started to sing something calming. Jaskier worked on the knots at his ankles, thankful that they'd been tied with rope instead of bound with manacles. His hands were loose enough with the long length of chain tethering him to the ground, but he wasn't going anywhere.

There was a heavy thump as the creature hit the ground with a small puff of dust. Jaskier's pulse started jittering and his blood felt light and bubbly in his veins as the beast advanced on him. As it came out of the shadow of the tower, he saw more details, all of them terrifying. It was muscular and moving on all fours, it's knuckles pressing into the stone as it crept forward cautiously. Lanky, red hair trailed over its bulging shoulders and . . . breasts. It was female? 

“What's your name, Sweetheart,” he asked softly, taking a chance. The beast froze when he spoke, making his stomach tie itself in knots. There was a sense of intelligence in its eyes, but it didn't reply. “It's alright,” he murmured. “I can do enough talking for both of us.” 

It huffed a breath and bounced where it stood, grunting threateningly. 

“Okay, okay. You liked the singing better. I got it.” Starting again, he sang the same song he always did when he was trying to calm himself or someone else. The beast started crooning low in its throat and it crouched down in front of him. Jaskier found himself repeating some of the verses, unsure of what to sing after that. But he had to give his voice a rest, so he brought the song to a close. He really needed something to drink.

The beast came forward, making Jaskier scramble back. But instead of hurting him, it leaned over him and ripped the iron ring out of the stone. The casual strength of it made him shiver. And then it picked him up and carried him toward an opening in the stone. “Wait, I-” Jaskier trailed off in a shout as they leapt down and his stomach lurched up into his throat. It was really dark and musty down here. He realized uncomfortably that he'd been brought down to some sort of crypt. The beast clawed it's way up a broken stone support pillar and looped the chain binding him over it before setting Jaskier down at its base. The manacle chain was long enough so his hands rested at his sides, but he was now tethered to the pillar with the chain looped around it behind him. 

It grunted at him again and Jaskier swallowed. It wanted him to sing again. Choosing something soothing, he started singing again and hoped it wouldn't get upset if he went hoarse. It settled down in front of him and crooned softly again. Maybe it would fall asleep. Or Jaskier might. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he was starting to shiver. It was cooler down here and he was already tired. Geralt wouldn't be able to find him because he wasn't wearing his boots which had a tracking charm in them. But if this is what he was hunting. . . There had been rumors about a monster that was eating people. But if what the guards had said was true, they'd been feeding it. Jaskier stopped as the beast's head whipped to the side and it's muscles bunched like it was preparing to move. Jaskier couldn't hear anything. 

“What's wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible. He shrank back against the broken pillar as the beast lunged at him and tore his shirt. Claws nicked the skin of his belly, making him wince. It shoved the fabric in his mouth and pulled the gag back up to keep it in. It was tighter now and Jaskier sat breathing heavily through his nose as it crooned again as if it were trying to reassure him. And then it took a running leap and clawed its way through a hole in the brickwork. Jaskier was left alone in the crypt. Well. Now what? He couldn't just sit here waiting for rescue. But his options were limited. 

A piercing shriek tore the air before ending in a snarl. It was angry. Jaskier stood and the chain dragged against the back of the pillar where it had been looped to keep him in place. The pillar was only a foot or two taller than him where it was broken off and there was a fair amount of slack in the chain. Maybe he could toss it up and over somehow like he was swinging a jump rope. It took a couple tries and his shoulders started to get sore. But on the third try, he got the chain all the way up so it hit the top of the pillar. And then it snagged on something. No amount of tugging or tossing made it budge. It left Jaskier standing with his arms chained above him. He couldn't even sit down like this and he couldn't reach the gag anymore. Shit. He should have removed it while he was still sitting and he growled behind it in frustration.

Another roar tore through the ruins and Jaskier could feel the brush of magic. Geralt. He was using signs, probably while fighting the beast. Of course he was here. And of course Jaskier was tied to something. He hadn't technically been kidnapped this time, but he didn't think Geralt would appreciate the distinction. Tugging futilely at the chain, Jaskier huffed against the gag. He couldn't even call out to him. The beast was intelligent. Jaskier wasn't sure if Geralt should kill it or not, but he had no way to tell him. 

There was a cracking boom that made him jump and press back against the pillar, and then another. And then part of the ceiling was caving in and two bodies tumbled down into the rubble. Jaskier sneezed and coughed on the cloud of dust and as it settled, he saw Geralt sprawled in the debris. He called to him behind the gag, but his words were garbled and he tugged at the chain again, making it clank harshly. Geralt stirred and sat up. He blinked in confusion at Jaskier, like he wasn't sure of what he was seeing. But when he got up, he didn't come over to release him. Instead, he checked on the beast, who seemed stunned by the fall, and then roamed around the room. He checked a bent grating covering an exit before casting a sign on it and then went over to the open crypt to peer inside. Only then did he come over and yank the gag out of Jaskier's mouth. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Not my fault.”

Geralt huffed as he checked the manacles. “It never is,” he muttered.

“Are you hurt?” Jaskier could see that one of Geralt's pauldrons was torn, but he was too dirty and disheveled to see any injuries underneath.

“Hn.” Geralt didn't reply as he tugged at the chain and glanced at the beast. “Hold still and close your eyes,” he said before stepping back and drawing his steel sword. 

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away as heard a sharp, echoing clang. His hands fell to his sides as the broken chain slipped free of the pillar. He wasn't sure what they were going to do next. They couldn't just leave the beast here, but there didn't seem to be any exits. 

The room started to brighten as the first kiss of dawn peeked through a crack in the wall and the beast stirred, shrieking again. But instead of threatening, it almost sounded frightened.

“Geralt, wait-” Jaskier was cut off as Geralt scooped him up and headed for the open crypt. When Jaskier realized what he was going to do, his thoughts tripped to a halt and he screamed. But he was pulled down into the stone coffin before he could get away and the lid slammed shut with a hollow thunk. A Witcher's sign over the edges sealed it with a brief flash before they were left in complete darkness. Jaskier struggled in the small space, scraping his knuckles against the stone as he pushed futilely at the cover and dragging at the broken chains over his face where they dangled from his wrist. His breath shrieked in his throat with unshed tears. He could feel something that might have been bones poking into his hip. He continued to struggle as his arms were pinned to his sides and he sobbed uselessly. Too small. Too dark. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt's voice broke through the fog of panic. He sounded worried and scared. How long had he been trying to get his attention? Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into Geralt's shoulder, ignoring the metal studs that dug into his cheek. “It's alright,” Geralt rumbled. “Just a little longer.”

Jaskier couldn't say anything. His voice had been reduced to a miserable whimper as he lay shaking. Even with his eyes closed, he felt the tiny space closing in on him. They'd be crushed, sealed in here forever. Geralt swore when Jaskier started keening. 

“Sleep.” The heavy word settled over Jaskier like a warm blanket, but he still instinctively fought the pull of the magic. He'd used Axii on him before, but he was more resistant to it now.

“Again,” he mumbled. 

“What?”

“Do it _again_.” The words cracked. 

The wash of magic was stronger this time and Geralt pulled him in tighter. “Go to sleep.” The words echoed in Jaskier's head, pushing his consciousness down and he tried his best to let go.

Finally, he slept.

*******

When Jaskier woke again, he was alone. There was sunlight spilling into the crypt and he jerked back when he saw the dry, rotted remains that lay beside him. Scrambling up, he banged his shoulder on the edge of the heavy stone cover. It didn't budge as he squeezed he way out of the opening. How the hell had Geralt closed it by himself? Jaskier ended up slithering over the side and landing hard on the cracked stone of the raised dais as one of the broken chains at his wrist swung free and smacked him hard in the cheek. He took a moment to calm himself so he wouldn't panic again as he looked around. He was in a large open space and not being crushed in a tiny. . . His head cleared immediately when he saw Geralt bleeding on the floor a few feet away. 

He was lying motionless in a slowly spreading pool of blood. A horrible wound in his neck was still bleeding sluggishly and Jaskier scrambled over to press his hand against it to staunch the flow. He didn't have anything to else press against it. His own clothes were far too filthy to use as a bandage. Searching with one hand, he rifled through Geralt's belt and pockets looking for potions. He was rewarded with a red bottle of Swallow. He tore the cork out with his teeth before pouring some of it over the wound under his hand. It bubbled and frothed as the mixture started to speed up the healing process. It wouldn't heal it completely, but it would help.

Jaskier had to swallow hard to keep from retching at the sight of torn flesh bubbling under his hand. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get Geralt to drink the rest. He'd have to keep an eye on him until the Witcher woke up so they could get out of here. A small sound caught his attention and he whipped his head around to see a filthy young woman crouching against the low wall nearby. She whimpered when she saw he'd noticed her. She was naked and covered in dirt with her hair hanging in lanky clumps over her shoulders. A glint of red strands caught his eye. Had she been the beast? Had it been a curse?

“Hello, Sweetheart,” he said softly. “Can you tell me your name now?”

Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she continued to cower against the broken stones. 

“It's alright,” Jaskier said as he shifted to sit more comfortably. Until Geralt woke up, they weren't going anywhere. Taking a deep breath and trying to work some saliva back into his mouth, he started to sing again. It was the song he sang to the ashen haired girl every time he saw her. It seemed to calm her down when she was upset, so maybe it would work here. He was rewarded for his efforts as the girl crept cautiously closer. But she paused a couple feet away, her eyes darting down to Geralt. 

“It's okay. He's asleep. He won't hurt you.” At least not anymore, Jaskier thought. Her hand was pressed against her neck and through the layers of dirt, Jaskier saw the wet dribble of blood. Holding out his free hand, he continued to sing and finally she pressed up against his side, stinking and nude, but calm. They sat together quietly for a while until Jaskier felt the warm touch of magic he'd come to associate with Triss. She had to be somewhere nearby.

“Triss!” he shouted. 

“Jaskier?” The sorceress sounded surprised as her distant voice echoed off the stone. “Where are you?”

“Down in the crypt. . . somewhere. . .down?” He grimaced. He hadn't really seen where it was when he was brought down here. The girl tensed against him.

“Hang on. Keep talking,” Triss told him.

“Geralt's hurt. And there's a girl here. She's injured too.”

“A girl? Is it the princess?” Triss' voice sounded closer. 

_”Princess?”_ Jaskier whispered as he looked down at the girl. She stared back at him with wide eyes. “I don't think she can speak. Who is she?”  
“It's a long story. I'll be right down.” 

Jaskier looked up to see Triss looking down at him from the hole in the ceiling where Geralt and the beast fell through. The girl startled and scrambled away as a portal opened next to them. “It's okay, it's okay. . .” He really wished he knew her name. 

Triss stepped out of the portal and knelt at Geralt's side, holding her palms out over his chest. “He's got some cuts and a lot of bruises.”

Jaskier nodded at the wound he was still holding. “There are some bad gashes in his neck. I kick-started the healing with a potion, but it can only do so much. And she's injured almost in the same place.”

Triss looked over at the girl who was staring back at her with suspicion. “This is Princess Adda's daughter who was cursed to be a Striga while still in the womb.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“And how did you come to be here?” she asked him as she gently removed his hand and took a roll of bandages out of her pouch to apply a quick dressing to Geralt's neck. With a snap of her fingers, the manacles opened and fell away from Jaskier's wrists. Handy.

“It's a long story,” he said dryly as he rubbed the sore skin where the metal had rubbed him raw.

“Well. I'm going to need your help to get him out of here. Both of them.” Triss glanced at the girl who was creeping closer towards Jaskier's outstretched arm as he tried to coax her into coming closer again. “She seems to trust you.”

“She likes my singing.”

“You're going to have to tell me about your magic sometime.”

Jaskier ignored her for a moment and started singing quietly again. The princess came closer and settled against him once more, seemingly deciding that Triss was no longer a threat because Jaskier was still calm. “So,” he said. How do we get out? You didn't exactly take the stairs.” 

“The same way I came in.”

“Uh. I hate to tell you this, but I've never gone through a portal without passing out before. How's this going to work?” 

Triss frowned at him. “What does it feel like when you go through?”

“Like I'm in two places at once. I don't think my brain likes it.” 

“Well,” she said. “A portal is a connection between two locations. Think of it like stepping through a doorway between two rooms.”

“But the rooms are in two different buildings. I think that's the part that makes my brain vomit.” 

“The locations of the rooms don't really matter. Focus on the doorway. It's a quick passageway that makes traveling faster. We'll be going to my house. It's in the Royal Quarter in the northeastern section of the city. Knowing where we're going might help you focus.”

“Where are we now?” he asked. “I was barely conscious on the way here and I couldn't see where we were going.”

“This is the old palace south of the city and Old Vizima. We'll be heading directly north across the lake.”

“Okay. I can't promise anything, but I'll give it a shot.” He needed to stay awake for Geralt so he could get him out of here. 

“Alright, I'm going to open a portal to a room on the second floor.” Triss raised her hand and moved her fingers the way Jaskier had seen Yennefer do before. A glowing swirl of light formed next to them. He'd never really taken the time to examine a portal up close before. He could almost see the bedroom on the other side. “I'm going to need your help to get him up,” she said. “I can lighten his weight a bit, but Witchers are naturally resistant to magic so I can't make him completely weightless.” 

True to her word, Geralt didn't seem quite as heavy as Jaskier shifted to get his shoulder under his arm. He struggled a bit to get him up as the princess stayed pressed against his other side. But with Triss' help, he was able to get Geralt up and move him toward the portal. Jaskier could feel the magic curling off it and his head started to throb. 

“So here's the hard part,” he huffed. “I've already got a headache and we're not even through yet. Will you be mad if I barf on your rug?”

Triss laughed lightly. “If you help me get him through, cleaning up a little puke will be a small price to pay. Ready?”

“No, but let's do it.”

“Try to focus on my room. Think about already being there.” She kept talking as they moved and Jaskier tried to focus on her voice as they stepped slowly through the vortex. A crippling wave of vertigo shook him, but he struggled to keep his feet. He needed to get Geralt to the bed. He could pass out when they were all the way through. The princess was clinging tightly to his other side, her presence keeping him grounded in a way he hadn't expected even as it made walking awkward. And then they were standing in a sumptuous bedroom with a huge canopy bed. The portal snapped shut and Jaskier's knees nearly gave out. He ended up heaving Geralt's weight onto the mattress with a little more force than necessary. 

“'s'this good?” Jaskier mumbled as his vision blurred. 

“You did great,” Triss murmured softly. “Now go ahead and pass out before you really do barf on my rug.”

“'kay.” Jaskier slumped down next to the bed and had a moment to appreciate how soft the rug actually was as his cheek pressed into it, and then he slipped into unconsciousness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the few things I don't like about the show is the design of the Striga. I really didn't like the way it looked, so I'm using the appearance of the Striga from the first Witcher game. (The opening cinematic is awesome. I highly recommend looking it up on YouTube.)
> 
> Also, apparently I have trouble counting and I numbered my files incorrectly. This story actually eight chapters, not seven and I've updated the story page accordingly. 
> 
> Woohoo! Bonus chapter!


	7. Outro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this story is done on Wednesday, I will be taking another break from posting. It will be at least two weeks, but I'm not sure of the exact date when I'll launch into the next story. I don't want to start posting chapters until it's complete. I'm almost there, but I'm not sure when I'll finish. It will probably somewhere in the first week of the new year. Bookmark the series if you'd like a notification or check my profile page for updates.
> 
> Happy holidays everyone.

Jaskier woke slowly. He was curled on his side in a soft bed dressed in an equally soft shirt. And nothing else. Blinking his eyes open, he sat up and saw Geralt laying peacefully beside him. The bandage wrapped around his neck was dotted with blood and needed to be changed. There were dark circles under his eyes. After Rinde, Geralt had started sleeping again, but he still wasn't sleeping well. 

“You care about him a great deal,” Triss said from the doorway.

Jaskier sighed. “Yeah.” Arranging the blankets in his lap, he turned to face her. “So do you. That wasn't a 'hi, how are you' kiss you gave him the other day.”  
Triss gazed back at him calmly, seemingly unconcerned by the comment. “I've known him for a very long time.”

“Longer than Yennefer?”

This time, a cloud of irritation ghosted over her features before softening again. “No. Very few people have known him longer than Yennefer.” Coming into the room and sorting through the bottles on the bedside table, she chose a few and started adding the contents to a mortar and pestle. “You're not human,” she said without looking at him.

“Before we get into this, where is the princess?”

“With the Sisters of Melitele. She'll remain at the temple in Ellander until she's healed and can learn enough to rejoin her father, King Foltest.”

Jaskier blinked and swallowed uncomfortably. “But. You said she was Princess Adda's daughter. How can she be. . .oh.” Princess Adda had been Foltest's sister. “How are people going to feel about that?” He swallowed again as he tried to remain as calm as she appeared. “Is anyone allowed to know? Am I in trouble because I know?” He stopped before he could really start babbling. Triss seemed to take pity on him and she sighed quietly.

“Jaskier, if it was that much of a problem, I would have left your body in the crypt.” Her tone was kind, but distressingly honest like she really meant it. 

Jaskier shuddered. “Sorry I asked.”

“You've been in the Wood long enough to know how it really works,” she said. 

“I guess so.”

“How do you feel?” she asked him after a few uncomfortable moments.

“Under-dressed.”

Smiling, she went to a wardrobe and pulled out a set of clothes and new boots and laid them on the end of the bed. “I can draw you a bath if you like.”

He felt clean enough, leading him to believe she'd taken care of him while he slept, but the memory of the filthy jail cell made him wrinkle his nose. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Triss waved her hand and gestured toward the screen on the other side of the room. Steam started to rise softly from somewhere behind it. “There are clean towels in the cabinet by the bench,” she said before turning back to the ingredients she was working with.

“What are you making?” Jaskier asked her as he tried not to gawp at her casual use of magic as he got out of bed. If she was paying for it with something, he couldn't tell what it was. 

“A healing poultice.”

“You can't just magic the wound away?” he asked as he stepped behind the screen and set the clean clothes down on the bench. It was a sage colored doublet and matching trousers in the same style as the ones he's been wearing when he met her. The boots were lovely with flowers stamped into the leather along the top edge. He wasn't going to ask her how she knew his size. 

“Magical healing is a tricky business, more so than other types of magic,” she said as she started grinding the ingredients together. “But you already knew that, didn't you?” Her tone was knowing and it felt foolish to deny it. 

“It costs a lot, and it's probably more than most can give.” The list of people that knew about his magic was growing fairly quickly. Jaskier sank into the hot water and grabbed a bar of soap. He traced his fingers over the light scars on his stomach from the Striga's claws. Yet another set of marks to add to his collection. At this rate, he'd have as many as Geralt. “is my magic that obvious, or did you see it when you looked in my head at the fruit stall?”

“A bit of both. You don't exactly try to hide it.” 

Jaskier huffed. “I don't know how. Until a few years ago, I thought I was human and I didn't know anything about magic except theory.”

“I saw that too.” She sounded troubled. “You've been through a lot.”

“Where I've been isn't as important as where I am now.”

“Hmm. That's an enlightened attitude to have. I wish others were as well adjusted as you.”

Jaskier laughed and it was a bitter sound. “Maybe I'm just good at hiding it.”

Triss exhaled softly. “No. You aren't. You wear your heart on your sleeve when you sing, and you lay yourself bare in your music.”

“Very few people realize that,” he said as he rinsed his hair. He wasn't sure how he felt about her knowing it. They were quiet for a while as he finished bathing and she changed Geralt's bandage. 

“How did you learn to sing the way you do?” she asked him.

“I'm a Bard,” Jaskier said as he came out from behind the screen wearing the new clothes. They fit as well as he thought they would. “It just kind of. . . happened after I went into the Wood the first time.”

She turned to look at him with look of surprise. “A real Bard?” 

“Really, real from what I've been told. Are you sure that's not against the rules?” His eyes widened. “Shit, the festival. What have I missed?”

“Not much. It's only been a day since the composition awards were handed out. The final competition was postponed due to unforeseen circumstances, namely, one of the top competitors disappearing. Your friends were quite worried. Mr. Merrill broke his hand on a another man's face because he was wearing your clothes.”

“Did he get my lute back?” Jaskier hadn't seen it in the jail.

“Your things are in your room at the inn. You're free to leave whenever you like,” Triss said, indicating the door. “It's nearly noon and the final round of the competition will be held tomorrow morning.” 

“I'm not leaving Geralt here.”

Her brows rose. “You doubt my intentions?”

“What? No.” Jaskier shook his head. He supposed he should since it was obvious she still had feelings for him, but Geralt could take care of himself. Like Stellan once said, he could defend his own honor. “I want to be here when he wakes up so he won't worry.” He didn't tell her about his panic attack inside the crypt. He just shrugged instead. “He's already pissed because I was down there. Might as well let him yell at me the moment he wakes instead of making him stew over it.”

“Ah, yes. About that. How _did_ you get down there?” she asked as she waved her hand and a tray with tea and sandwiches appeared in the sitting area. She gestured for him to sit with her on the small couch. He sat and took a cup, sipping some softly floral tea while he summarized what had happened in the alley and the jail. When he got to the royal guard, her expression darkened.

“I wondered what had been keeping the Striga at bay. It was the full moon, but she wasn't venturing out for food. It won't be an issue anymore, but I'll need to talk to Foltest about it.”

“Do you think he knew?” They'd said it was the King's orders, but there was no way to be certain.

“I don't know,” she admitted. “But you have no need to worry. He is grateful that the curse has been lifted from his daughter. Though don't expect him to say so,” she added.

Jaskier nodded as he munched on sandwiches. He had a stray thought as he took a bite of crisp, cold cucumber. There was a cabinet in the kitchen in Kaer Morhen stocked with everlasting ice that never melted, and it made the food in the keep's pantry last a lot longer. Refrigeration was normally impossible in the Wood, so it was rare to eat or drink anything cold without snow on the ground outside. It was currently the middle of summer. 

“You're the one who made the magic refrigerator in Kaer Morhen,” he said. 

Triss laughed lightly. “Yes, though it wasn't exactly a selfless gesture. It made staying there a bit more bearable. It's not exactly the most hospitable place, though the baths there are lovely.”

“It's not that bad. . . okay, maybe it is. But the company is good.” Winters at Kaer Morhen were a mix of conversation, studying in the expansive library, amazing sex with Geralt, and a fair amount of boredom because it was so remote. “Thanks for taking care of them. There aren't many who would do so.”

Triss studied him for a moment. “Who are you?”

“Um. Jaskier the Bard?” He wasn't sure what she meant. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she'd known his grandfather, but he wasn't sure he should. He didn't know her well enough for that kind of trust yet.

“You're a pain in the ass.” The quiet rumble form the bed made them both turn. The familiar grumbling had Jaskier smiling quietly. He normally would have made a joke or an innuendo, but he stopped himself and sighed instead. He felt uncomfortable in a way he couldn't quite describe, but It wasn't because of Triss.

“What, no glib remark?” Geralt opened his eyes and looked over at them. 

“No,” Jaskier said quietly. He felt like he and Geralt were drifting apart and he didn't quite know how to stop it. It hit him suddenly and made him queasy. It was like he was just now realizing how much of a toll the months of emotional distance had taken on him.

Frowning, Geralt struggled into a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He kept his gaze on Jaskier as Triss came over to check the fit of the bandage. There were other, smaller wounds dotting Geralt's chest, but the worst of it was his neck and the line of a fresh cut bisecting the Katakan scars on his left shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked him, his gruff voice quiet.

“No.” Echoes of being sealed inside the crypt floated through Jaskier's head, making him close his eyes and suppress a shudder. When he felt a warm hand on his knee, he opened his eyes to see Geralt kneeling in front of him. Jaskier's vision went blurry with the prick of tears. Everything that had happened the night before seemed to be suddenly drowning him on top of his quiet misery. He'd fully expected Geralt to growl and snap at him for being in the middle of things. The quiet question about his well being kicked down the barriers he'd built up over the last couple years.

Geralt spoke quietly to Triss while keeping his grip on Jaskier's knee. He asked about the princess, and when he was convinced she was safe and cared for, he stood and got dressed. Jaskier felt a chill through the fabric of his trousers where the warm spot on his knee cooled without the contact of Geralt's hand. He watched through a haze as Triss handed Geralt a pouch of coins. She must have hired him to deal with the Striga. And then Geralt drew Jaskier to his feet, carrying his armor and bags in his free hand. Jaskier went with him, feeling a little numb. The tears hadn't fallen. It was like his eyes changed their mind and they felt dry and scratchy now. 

They headed through the Royal Quarter toward The Dove and Pheasant. Pavel brightened at their arrival, but immediately scurried forward in concern. 

“Are you alright, Jaskier? Mr. Merrill and Miss Daven have been so worried about you.”

“I'm fine.” Jaskier mustered up a quiet smile. “We'll send down for dinner later.”

“Of course, of course. Anything you need.”

Jaskier didn't miss the look Pavel gave to Geralt as he told him Jaskier's room number, but with the Witcher behind him, he couldn't see the look on his face. He was ushered gently up the stairs where they ran into Essi and Brett as they came out of their room on the third floor.

“Jaskier!” Essi came over and clutched him tightly in a hug. He returned the embrace quietly, standing almost painfully still in her arms. Everything felt a little distant just now. 

“What-”

“Later,” Geralt rumbled, cutting off Brett's question. The single word was enough to quiet both of them. Essi stood back and put a hand on Jaskier's cheek before stepping back completely. 

“Okay,” she said. “Later.”

Up on the fourth floor in his room, Jaskier felt a brief bit of relief at seeing his lute unharmed. Geralt maneuvered him over to the bed and started undressing him. 

“Geralt. . .” Jaskier reached up to stop him from unbuttoning his doublet. He definitely wasn't in the mood.

Geralt brushed his hands away gently. “Hush, unless you want to sleep in your clothes.”

“Sleep?”

“You need real rest, not unconsciousness.” 

“How-”

“Jaskier. You and Triss didn't carry me back to the city. You had to use a portal which means you probably passed out, unless you've magically figured out out how to manage it since the last time.” Geralt's tone was terse as he efficiently loosened ties and buttons. After pulling Jaskier's doublet off and sliding his trousers down to his knees, he sat him down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. Geralt briefly looked at the new footwear with a frown before setting it aside. “I checked to make sure you were still in the city before I left for the old castle. Never considered that someone might have stolen your fucking clothes.”

“They were trying to keep me from competing,” Jaskier mumbled.

“By feeding you to a Striga?” Geralt snorted. “Why didn't they just stab you instead? It would have been easier.”

Jaskier didn't acknowledge the comment about how easy it would be for him to die. “They weren't trying to kill me, just get me arrested and out of the way. The guy said we were all going to be bailed out the next day. He freaked out when the royal guards came to the jail in the middle of the night.”

Geralt took a deep calming breath as he pulled Jaskier's trousers off completely and tossed them aside. 

“I just. . .” Jaskier suddenly didn't know what he wanted. The tears that had faded before returned and he took a shuddering breath. Geralt shucked his clothes before pushing Jaskier back into the bed and crawling in with him. The dam seemed to burst suddenly as Jaskier was surrounded by the heat of the Witcher. He pressed into him and started to cry. 

Why? Why now? It was over. He'd been in dangerous spots before that had ended badly. Some of them had been far worse than this one. They'd gotten through easily enough. Why was he so upset now?

Geralt said nothing as he curled around him. Injured and tired, he was still trying to make him feel better even if he wasn't quite sure how. It just made Jaskier cry harder. He pressed his face into the muscle of Geralt's good shoulder, trying to stifle the sound. The other man's fingers threaded softly though his hair, holding, but not restraining him. 

Jaskier eventually cried himself out and lay quiet and still for a while. Geralt's breathing got deep and even until he lay sleeping. Tracing a finger lightly below the new cut, Jaskier felt emotion well within him. He was too exhausted to continue crying. How many times would he need to be rescued? How long could they keep going on like this?

Jaskier sniffed softly and tried to relax so he could follow him into sleep. 

********

Later that evening, they were sitting at the small table by the hearth eating dinner with Essi and Brett who had brought chairs up from the common room. Pavel had sent up a full spread including two roast chickens, cheesy baked potatoes, a loaf of bread, and a large salad. They popped both bottles of wine that Jaskier and Essi had bought before. None of them felt like sharing the company of a room full of people or answering questions. News of Jaskier's return had spread quickly and people kept trying to come up to the room to see him. After the third person knocked and interrupted them, Geralt swung the door open and growled angrily in their face. It had been quiet since then. 

“How's your hand?” Jaskier asked. 

Brett sighed and held up his bandaged left hand. “Couple broken fingers. They set well and it's not my main, so it's not too bad.”

“Thanks for getting my lute back.” 

“He's lucky that all he got was broken nose,” Essi said as she buttered a piece of bread with jerky movements until the thick slice nearly tore.

“Calmly, Dear,” Brett murmured. 

“I'll _calmly_ you,” she said with a frown. “I still say you should have let me stab him.”

Jaskier saw Geralt smirk out of the corner of his eye as his own mouth twitched. He felt a bit wrung out, but the sadness from earlier had passed. Mostly. Sleep and food were doing wonders, but he still felt a little unsettled.

“I'm not sure if I want to take the stage tomorrow,” Jaskier said, feeling the words curdle in his belly, all amusement suddenly fading. He wasn't worried about the crowd or how he'd be received. It was his choice of song. It had seemed so good before, but it felt too raw and close to his heart just now. 

“Really?” Essi put down her knife. “You've been looking forward to this for a while.” She blew out a breath. “But I understand. Really. That must have been a lot.”

He'd told them briefly what happened without giving them too many details about the princess. No need to draw them any deeper into Foltest's mess. 

“At any rate, that prick Valdo won't win, no matter what he does,” Essi said finally. “I'd be happy with Mateo or even Morris winning.” Once again, she didn't consider herself in the running. 

Valdo. Jaskier sighed heavily. He'd essentially be giving him what he wanted if he didn't compete. Geralt's hand slid over his knee under the table and squeezed lightly. They hadn't talked about what happened in the crypt, and Jaskier certainly hadn't tried to tell him how he felt about them drifting apart. But he felt a little more settled by the touch. What was he afraid of? His own feelings? No. Like Triss said, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Why should he stop now?

“Maybe you should wait until tomorrow morning to decide,” Brett said as he finished off the last bit of chicken on his plate. 

“Maybe,” Jaskier agreed. “I'll be there regardless of my choice.” Traveling in the Wood took so long that he only got to see Essi once a year or so. He wouldn't miss her performance.


	8. Encore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that I'll be taking a break from posting for the holidays while I finish up the next story. I'll be back sometime at the beginning of the new year. Bookmark the series if you'd like a notification or check my profile page.

The next morning, Jaskier was dressed and looking at himself in the mirror with a critical eye. He was wearing the dark teal outfit with red accents that Elihal had made to replace the first outfit he'd worn into the Wood. The original had been clawed, dirtied, and ultimately torn to pieces during his first few months and then the second one had been lost in Rinde. But Elihal had made him a replacement that fit even better than the original. He felt more like himself than he had in weeks.

“You can stay up here,” he said to Geralt. “So you don't have to deal with the crowds.” 

The other man was sitting on the edge of the bed watching him. He wore his swords and armor, which seemed to be intact. Triss must have cleaned and repaired it while they slept yesterday. 

“I dislike crowds, but I can tolerate them,” he rumbled, annoyed.

“I know.” Jaskier met his gaze in the mirror. “But you didn't come into to the city with me.” He shrugged. “We were going to meet in White Bridge later, remember? I figured it was because you didn't want to be around this many people. The square is going to be packed today.”

Geralt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wasn't avoiding crowds. I was trying to avoid Triss.”

Jaskier tilted his head to look back at him over his shoulder. “You seemed to get along fine.”

“She needed my help with a job. But she always expects. . .”

“More?”

“Hn.”

“She backed off quick enough when you didn't respond to her kiss,” Jaskier pointed out. When Geralt's brow rose, he just shrugged. “I saw you in the square the other day and followed you. It. . .hurt that you didn't come with me.” He hadn't intended to get into this, but here they were. “And then you snuck away from the square, like you were trying to hide.”

“I didn't catch your attention because you don't need me to sing well.”

“No. I don't. After calming down, I thought about it and figured you didn't want me following you while you were hunting.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Geralt said, his tone dry. 

“You could have at least said hello. And I understand now why you didn't come into the city right away, but you could have said something before I left Murivel.”  
Geralt snorted. “And have you mope the entire way here while you obsessed about someone I used to be with?”

“I don't. . .okay, okay. I do obsess. _Occasionally,_ ” Jaskier admitted. He huffed a bitter laugh. “But I'm not jealous, Geralt. That's just a waste of energy.” 

“You get maudlin and dramatic every time we see Yennefer.”

“ _I'm_ maudlin?” Jaskier turned all the way around to face him. “You've been brooding for months, Geralt. I actually talked to Eskel and Vesemir about it last winter because I thought something was wrong.”

A muscle in Geralt's jaw tensed and Jaskier could practically hear his teeth grinding. 

“And if you recall,” Jaskier continued, “She only seems to show up when something big and life-threatening is happening.” He started counting off points on his fingers. “She kidnapped me the first time after someone tried to hang me. The second time, she was trying to have you kill a giant sea serpent. Which you only agreed to do under duress because that was the only way she would help you get to Lettenhove. And she tried to put me to sleep on the deck of a ship that ended up getting crushed in the middle of a storm.”

“You wouldn't have been involved with the serpent if you hadn't gotten kidnapped by the Vodyanoy.”

“Shut up,” Jaskier snapped. “I'm not finished. The last time I saw her, you fucking DIED!” He finished with a shout, his breath heaving. He stared at Geralt as the crux of what had been bothering him hung in the air between them. “I think I'm allowed to be a little dramatic and _maudlin_.” It tore at him and he couldn't help it. He lowered his voice and continued. “And I know that the next time she crooks her finger in your direction, you'll go with her. You won't like it. You'll fight against it. But you'll go with her because that's what you do.” 

“What do you want from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, his voice tired.

“I don't know. I don't know how to do this.” And it hurt that he didn't know. “We're not going to get married and settle down somewhere because that's not who either one of us is. But I. . . I don't know what else to do.”

“Do you. . .not want to travel together anymore?” Geralt's voice was rough in a way that had nothing to do with its customary rumble.

“No. I mean, yes! Fuck. No, I don't want to stop traveling with you. That's not. . .fuck.” Jaskier's heart started thumping against his ribs painfully and he felt light headed. “I've never asked for more than that because I don't. . . I don't know what more is. Do you not want me to come with you?”

“I don't mind traveling with you,” Geralt said quietly. Which was the equivalent of a love confession and they both knew it. But they didn't say the words.

“Okay,” Jaskier breathed with a shuddering sigh. “We can leave after the competition. I'll be back when it's over.” He grabbed his lute and left the room, trying not to look like he was running away. But he had to get out of there before he started crying again and made it worse. Geralt didn't follow him. Jaskier wasn't even sure if he wanted him to hear the new song or not. He'd worked on the melody while they traveled and kept the words to himself. But he'd never felt more primed to sing it than he did now. 

Downstairs, Essi looked at him with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I'm going to win or make the entire crowd cry. Or both. Dunno.” He held it in. Jaskier knew he'd probably start crying on stage, but it didn't matter as long as he could keep singing. They ate breakfast quietly, but with focus. Jaskier's mood seemed to be enough to keep others away for now and that was fine. He didn't have it in him to be obliging or friendly today. 

The crowd was absolutely packed into the square and there was a special, raised platform over on one side where a man in ornate robes and a crown sat surrounded by courtiers. King Foltest really had come down for the final performance. But there were only three judges at the table. Reginald was missing. 

“Good to see you in one piece, Mate,” Morris told him. “Was beginning to think you weren't going to show today. Good on you.”

“What happened to Reginald?” And Valdo. Jaskier didn't see him either. 

“Oh, you didn't hear?” Morris laughed. “Dandy fuck was selling songs to competitors. That 'Autumn Bounty' foolishness was his work. Valdo, the useless prick, was paying him. For all the good it did him,” he muttered.

“Got themselves thrown out.” Mateo sniffed. “Good riddance. Reginald probably paid for his own poet's title.” He turned to Jaskier and regarded him thoughtfully. “It is good to have you back. Winning is only worth it when you beat the best.”

“Thanks.” It was probably one of the best compliments Jaskier had received so far. 

Belmont addressed the crowd as soon as all of the competitors had arrived. They stood waiting together for the real competition to begin. 

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Belmont began. “Your Majesty,” he said with a bow to the royal box. “Welcome to the third and final phase of the Bardic Festival Competition. Today you will hear the finished works that our competitors have prepared and we will decide who is this year's Bardic Champion.” There was a round of applause before the audience quieted again so Belmont could give a summary of the contest so far and acknowledge the change at the judge's table. But he didn't say why. And then the final competition began. 

The prepared pieces had a lot more depth and thoughtful phrasing since everyone had so much time to polish them. Morris sang unrepentantly about cocks in the morning that crowed twice which made everyone, including the king, laugh. Mateo showed he didn't just write about sadness and feeling lonely, showcasing his range. His song about the birth of spring offered hope and happiness. Jaskier actually felt a little lighter after hearing it. Essi's song was a well crafted poem about the challenge of unexpected changes and the struggle to adapt. The melody was smooth and the the rhyming superb. Jaskier was proud of her. When Jaskier took the stage, the king gave him a small nod. Jaskier bowed in return before turning to the audience. 

Geralt was standing at the back of the crowd. 

There was a bit of space around him like his brooding presence was making people keep their distance. It made him stand out like a star on the horizon. Holding his gaze, Jaskier started plucking out the notes of 'Her Sweet Kiss.' He'd written the lyrics while he was grieving for what their relationship used to be. And he had a fair amount of sullen anger reserved for Yennefer and the hold she had over Geralt. 

He knew it wasn't really her fault, but love stole his reason. Emotions washed away all of his sense. But no matter how much she would pull Geralt toward her, Jaskier would follow. He looked directly at Geralt and continued to sing.

“I am weak my love, and I am wanting.” 

He saw the Witcher swallow hard as he continued singing about welcoming his fate to follow at his side, trudging this path and welcoming his sentence. A tear slipped down Jaskier's cheek, but his voice stayed clear as he finished the last verse. The final notes rang out over the crowd and faded away as his heart twisted in his chest. He meant every word. Closing his eyes, he let the applause wash over him for a moment then bowed for the people and again for the king before stepping down. This time he didn't dodge Essi as she moved in to wrap her arms around him. She kissed the tear away and smoothed a hand over his hair while murmuring soothingly to him. It took him a few moments to compose himself. 

“Another round of applause for our excellent competitors,” Frieda said as she stood and stepped forward with Belmont and Triss. The crowd cheered again, the whistling and hollering echoing off the surrounding buildings as the judges conferred briefly with each other. A scribe stood at the ready and Belmont went over to speak quietly to him before he started writing something with swooping movements. He blew on the ink briefly before handing it over. Belmont held the parchment up as Frieda pulled out a large purse. 

“This year's Bardic Champion is. . .” Belmont paused for effect. “Jaskier of Lettenhove for 'Her Sweet Kiss.' 

Jaskier had to take a few steadying breaths to calm himself as the crowd went wild. He hadn't actually expected to win. 

Mateo patted him on the back. “Congratulations.”

“You're not mad?” After the whole fiasco with Valdo, Jaskier was a bit wary of people who were driven to win. 

The other man chuckled. “There's no shame in being beaten by the best. Actually had me tearing up a bit.”

Heading back up onto the stage, Jaskier accepted the parchment that was a prettily decorated certificate with his name written on it proclaiming him the Bardic Champion. He took the purse from Frieda with a nod of thanks. Her eyes appeared to be a bit watery. Triss came forward and he braced himself. He had a brief, irrational moment fear that she thought the song was about her. But then the more reasonable part of him said that she knew it had been written before he'd even met her. She kissed both his cheeks to congratulate him as he heard her voice in his head again.

“ _If you ever need anything, you can reach me here in Vizima anytime._ ”

“Thank you,” he said and tried not to wince when he realized he'd spoken aloud. He turned to the crowd and waved, only faltering slightly when he saw that Geralt was no longer there. When he stepped down, the people were loud and joyous. Some were wandering off in search of a midday meal while others headed to the market stalls and game pavilions. Jaskier just wanted to go back to his room. As charged as he felt with the glow of winning, he didn't feel much like celebrating. He waved Essi and Brett off, telling them to enjoy some time together while the festival continued. The festivities would last long into the night before tapering off the next day. 

Jaskier took side streets, carefully scanning them before moving through due to his latest misadventure. Fortunately, there were no fights or surging crowds to worry about. But after a few minutes, he felt that someone was following him. Stopping and reaching down into his boot, he drew the silver knife he always carried. Hopeless with a blade or not, he had absolutely no patience right now. He turned and held the knife up in what he hoped was a threatening manor. Valdo stopped in his tracks and raised his hands as his eyes flicked from the knife to Jaskier's darkening expression.

“Oh, for fuck's sake. What do _you_ want?” Jaskier snapped.

Valdo swallowed. “To. . .apologize.” His lip curled like word tasted bad in his mouth. 

“For what?” Jaskier knew but wanted to hear him say it.

“For getting you arrested and having someone pose as you. I didn't. . . I didn't think it would go that far. I just wanted to win.”

Jaskier sighed and put the knife away. The other man's fear made it unnecessary. “Then sing better.”

“You don't know what it's like. I'm just tired of seeing people get things handed to them.” Valdo's voice tipped towards a thin whine. What was probably a genuine insecurity came out sounding like a petty complaint.

Jaskier opened his mouth to tell him that he was the one who didn't understand. But he closed it again. He didn't owe this man anything. He wasn't going to tell him how hard his own life had actually been. “You paid someone for a song instead of writing one yourself. How is that not having something handed to you?”

“Art is not made in a day,” Valdo said haughtily. “My finished piece was much better. Had I been allowed to perform it, I would be the one with the title.”

Any sympathy Jaskier might have had evaporated. He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned and walked away. 

“Ah, no hard feelings then?” Valdo called.

“Come near me again and I'll have my Witcher break your fingers,” Jaskier said, his tone casual and bored as he kept walking. He wouldn't do it, of course, but the threat seemed to be enough. When he got to the next main street and glanced back down the way he came, the space between the buildings was empty. 

Back at The Dove and Pheasant, Pavel congratulated him and presented him with a bottle of good, aged red from Toussaint. Thanking him with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, Jaskier nodded and headed upstairs. He paused in the doorway when he saw Geralt sitting in a chair by the window looking out on the street below. He was barefoot in his shirtsleeves with his ankles crossed in front of him. But instead of looking comfortable, it almost seemed like a calculated image of being relaxed and nonthreatening. Jaskier wasn't sure how he felt about that. And he wasn't sure why he'd thought that the other man had left the city without him. He held up the bottle and parchment.

“I won.”

“Congratulations.” Geralt's tone was light and slightly disinterested as he continued to look out the window. 

Jaskier wasn't quite sure what to say. He set his winnings down and slid the lute strap off his shoulder so he could set the instrument aside. 

“Do you really consider it a penance? Being with me?” Geralt's question was painfully quiet.

“No.” Jaskier felt himself tearing up again. He still felt raw inside. That wasn't what the song meant. “I wrote it when I was trying to figure out what how I felt.” It sounded like such a lame explanation.

“My ties to Yennefer were an accident.”

“I know.” Gods, why did he suddenly feel like a scolded child? Jaskier shrugged awkwardly. “I can't help how I feel.”

“It's still there.”

“What?”

“The connection. I think it snapped in Rinde, but when I woke up again. . . it was there, like it was fresh and new.” Geralt rubbed idly at his chest over his heart. “I've tried breaking it before. It nearly killed us.” 

“Why did you go to Rinde?”

Geralt finally looked at him. “Which time?”

“The last time. What were you going to wish for? You knew Jan was there and you could have easily wished for the bond to be broken. And you've had enough time to figure out how to word it so he couldn't screw you over. Why didn't you do it?”

“He was killing you.”

“That's why you hesitated, but that's not why you wished for peace instead of Yennefer's freedom. What did you really want?” Jaskier desperately hoped he hadn't actually wanted to die.

“All I wanted was sleep.”

Jaskier huffed a short laugh. “He probably would have put you to sleep for a thousand years or something else equally stupid. Are you still having that much trouble?”

Geralt stood and came over to him, standing close enough that Jaskier could feel the heat of him through his clothes. “Only when I sleep alone.”

Jaskier looked at him as his heart started tripping lightly. “For every asshole out there, there's three willing people that would share your bed.” Jaskier wasn't the only one who fended off the attention of others.

Geralt leaned in closer so his breath feathered over Jaskier's lips. “I can't sleep when I'm not with you,” he whispered. 

“Sorry,” he murmured before Geralt's lips closed over his own. It was slow and heated in a way that made him mewl softly into his mouth. Jaskier didn't resist this time as he was slowly undressed and maneuvered back toward the bed again. This was where Geralt excelled at communication when words often failed him. He was reticent and he struggled to say what he felt, but he'd never learned to lie with his body. The slow, lavish attention that he paid to Jaskier's made him melt into the bed. There was love and adoration in every press of lips and gentle sweep of fingers over sensitive skin. Every touch was patient and caring, and almost apologetic, like Geralt knew how much Jaskier wanted to hear as much as feel how he felt.

When they lay together sated and spent, Geralt settled himself with is body half draped over Jaskier's, his weight lightly pressing him down into the mattress. His head was comfortably cradled in the crook of Jaskier's neck with his breath brushing over his collarbone. It was almost as if he were afraid that Jaskier would leave if he didn't hold onto him. Jaskier idly curled a few strands of Geralt's hair around his fingers. 

“I got some fabric so Elihal can make you some new shirts. Yours are getting a little worn.” 

“Hmm.” The rumble of Geralt's voice vibrated against Jaskier's chest, making him close his eyes briefly. 

“I figure we can head to Novigrad after this, and maybe travel with Brett and Essi on the way.”

“Hn.”

“And then I thought I might take up table dancing. I hear that Kate's is hiring. I could get a little experience and then maybe move my way up to the Passiflora.”

Geralt pinched the soft skin above Jaskier's hip, making him laugh and squirm a bit. “You'll need a little more muscle tone to get any decent tips,” Geralt said.

“Just making sure you were paying attention.”

“I always listen to you.”

“I once talked to you about rhyming theory for a solid hour and you didn't recall a bit of it afterwards.”

“I always listen to you when it matters,” Geralt amended. 

That wasn't technically true. There had been many times when Geralt cut him off and made it clear that he wasn't interested in talking. But he supposed it was good that he was honest enough to do that much at least. The Witcher wasn't completely incapable of communicating. It was just difficult. 

Jaskier pressed his lips to Geralt's forehead. “I really don't need more than this,” he said, his voice quiet and even. 

“Is it enough?” The question was simple and hesitant.

“I don't know.” When Geralt shifted on the bed, Jaskier curled his limbs around him to keep him from getting up. “I'm trying to be honest. I going to live for a really long time and I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself over the next few centuries. I didn't even know what I was going to do when I thought my lifespan was going to be _less_ than a century.” 

“You worry too much about the future.”

“And I don't think you worry enough.” Jaskier remembered what Eithne, the leader of the Dryads, had said in Brokilon. She'd mentioned Destiny and Geralt's attempts to avoid it. Perhaps he also worried a bit too much and was attempting to overcompensate by ignoring it completely. “I just thought. . . that I should have plans, I guess.”

“For what?”

“I. . . have no idea,” Jaskier admitted. 

“Do you want a promise?”

Jaskier leaned back a little and looked at him with a frown. “I don't want you to make promises you can't keep.” Something tightened in his gut. The ashen haired girl had told Jaskier not to make promises he couldn't keep as well. He swallowed uncomfortably. “And I don't need you to say something out loud when I already know.” He still didn't say the words himself. Well, he had said it before, but Geralt had been asleep the first time and the second time it had sounded like a joke. But the Witcher knew that he loved him. Nearly every song he'd written about him had been full of bold declarations and descriptions about his feelings. Geralt was many things but he was not an obtuse man.

Geralt stared back at him, his golden eyes clear and unguarded as he tried to parse Jaskier's words. He rolled onto his back, taking Jaskier with him so he was sprawled on top of him, like a wolf showing his belly in a display of complete trust. Jaskier leaned in and kissed him softly. When he pulled back again, he tried to keep his face just as open and trusting.

“I don't know what the future holds, but wherever you go, I'll follow you.”

Geralt sighed, lifting him up a little with the movement of his chest expanding. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier's back and held him close. “That's all I can ask for,” he rumbled, somehow sounding both sad and content at the same time. It didn't quite quell the uneasiness that Jaskier had felt for the last few months, but they were okay for now. That really was all he could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking this journey with me. I think I'm the most proud of this particular story. It has everything I wanted and more.


End file.
